


Warriors: The Linear Territories - Book 1: Fractures Form (Part 1 of the Felis Dominae Chronicles)

by BiNonJay



Series: Warriors: The Linear Territories [1]
Category: Warriors - Erin Hunter
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-24
Updated: 2020-04-07
Packaged: 2020-10-27 05:43:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 18
Words: 34,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20755271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BiNonJay/pseuds/BiNonJay
Summary: Welcome to the linear territories - a group of four clans that call the southern end of a college campus their home. While most clan groups situate themselves in a square or circle formation, the clans of the linear territories arrange themselves in a straight line. Lumberclan calls the first patch of forest its home, dense with fallen logs and filled with trees both living and dead. Next comes Carrionclan - known as the ruling clan - which makes its home in a diverse area filled with forest, field, and most importantly - the composts where the college rids itself of agricultural waste. After Carrionclan is Fieldclan, living among the corn field and grass for three seasons of the year and wintering in a patch of forest to the south of the territory. Finally is Alderclan - the oldest of the four clans and the largest, claiming a vast land of open forest nearly the size of the other three territories combined. The clans live in relative peace, each with their own customs and rituals.Except when they don't. Alderclan is growing more and more power hungry by the day, three of the four clans have been left in the hands of young, inexperienced leaders, and a sudden prophecy has everyone on high alert.(See notes)





	1. Prologue

_“Describe it to me.”_

_“It sounds perfect. But I have to ask - why did you insist on bringing me instead of just telling me?”_

_“_ _...right. And what might that surprise be?”_

_“_ _Of course I trust you! You’re my son - ...why would you even ask?”_

_“That’s the first I’ve heard anything about protests.”_

_“Just because I’m deaf that doesn’t mean I can’t listen. I’m listening to you now, aren’t I?”_

_“Is that what this is about? Protestors?”_

_“Then talk into my paw.” “Dissenters? As if that somehow makes any more sense. Who are they, and why are they ‘dissenting?’”_

_“I don’t expect them all to like the fact that their clan is a haven for the disabled, but I do expect them to suck it up and deal with it.”_

_“What do you mean ‘they are?’ If they’re ‘dissenting,’ then clearly they’re not.”_

_“How so?”_

_“...Blistertongue? Where did you-”_


	2. Part 1: Lumberclan - Chapter 1

Barkpaw stared at the trial tree with worried eyes, his tail flicking anxiously from side to side. His sister Branchpaw, on the other hand, stared at it with wonder, vibrating with excitement and eagerness. Their mentor, Woodvein, sat between them, gazing on the trial tree as though it were an old friend. The three cats waited in silence, taking in the sounds of the forest. Birds chirping, squirrels leaping through the rustling branches, their clanmates chatting and laughing amongst themselves throughout the territory. 

“Are we all ready?” a gentle voice mewed from behind them. The trio immediately turned in unison to look as their leader, Splinterstar, padded in with the clan symbol, a melanistic grey squirrel known as Walnut, at her side. Woodvein nodded in return, a smile on her muzzle.

“I believe so,” she replied, glancing at both of the apprentices. Splinterstar ambled off to the side, sitting with a horizontal view of the massive leaning tree. Walnut hopped onto her back, scurrying up to sit on her head. He held a peanut in his paws, gnawing on the shell idly. The she-cat looked upward and chuckled softly, her ears flicking in amusement of the small mammal. 

“And what about you two? Do you feel ready?” she inquired of the apprentices.

“Of course!” Branchpaw exclaimed, jumping to her paws. Barkpaw made a squeak at his sister’s exclamation, his ears flattening back as he shrunk down to the ground.

“I’m not,” he muttered under his breath, looking away. Woodvein placed a paw gently on 

his back, gazing at him with caring eyes.

“Just do your best, Barkpaw. That’s all any of us can ask of you.” Barkpaw looked at her sheepishly, then turned to Splinterstar, who gave him a smile and a nod. He gulped, took in a deep breath, and exhaled sharply.

“Y-yeah. I know,” he replied. “I- I guess I’m ready too.” Branchpaw grinned over at him.

“You’ll do great, Barkpaw! I know you will!” The tom looked over at his sister, smiling a little more.

“Thanks, Branchpaw.” Woodvein purred with contentment and pride for her two apprentices, and gently nudged Branchpaw.

“You’re up first,” she mewed. Branchpaw nodded, trying to contain her excitement. She bounced to the side of the tree, and skillfully bounded up the tangle of roots until she stood on its trunk. She sniffed at it with curiosity, taking in all the small marks from the claws of those who had scaled it before her. It was as if the history of Lumberclan had been etched into it, and she was filled with a surge of dignity as she thought of all her ancestors watching her from Starclan. The bark felt strange beneath her paws - all too smooth compared to the other trees she had practiced climbing. She knew it wouldn’t be easy, but as she traced the claw marks with her own claws, she had a revelation.

** _They’ve already given me what I need to succeed - these marks create traction, and if I place my claws at the right spots, climbing will be easier than catching a squirrel in the high branches. _ **She settled herself on her haunches, placing each of her claws into the marks beneath her, digging the tips in and feeling the bark grow pliable and easy to grip beneath them. Her eyes lifted toward the top of the tree, her mind subconsciously calculating how the incline sloped from gentle to steep to nearly vertical at its top as it disappeared above the canopy of the trees it leaned upon, and taking into account how the width turned from feet to mere inches the higher it rose. Like an arrow being shot from a bow, she sprung forward, her long tail drifting behind her to keep her balance. With no hesitation she ascended, bolting up the tree as she relied on her anatomy to keep her from falling. Her curved claws dug deep into the hard, smooth wood, her wrists and ankles twisted to keep her paws landing on any knobs and divets that might give her more support, and her tail billowed loosely behind her, twitching when slight adjustments were needed.

From the ground, Woodvein watched with wide eyes, her gaze of pride soon turning to concern. Walnut leaped from Splinterstar’s head as the leader stood and lifted her eyes to the apprentice, dropping the peanut he had been nibbling on. He gave her a bitter glance, but shrugged and returned to his munching. Splinterstar whipped her gaze to Woodvein, who returned it with a worried glance. The two lifted their heads back up, watching with wonder and fear as the apprentice continued her ascent. Barkpaw wanted so badly to look away, but he kept his eyes trained on his sister, glued to the image that played out before him.

The incline was growing steeper by the second, and claw marks to grip into were growing few and far between. The bark went from having a minor amount of traction to having almost none, but Branchpaw dug deeper, using her strong dewclaws to help give her even more grip. Her vision was focussed on the canopy, but for a moment her gaze drifted to the ground. She had never been so high up before, and while the view for others may have caused them to falter, for her it only gave her a rush of joy and adrenaline as she imagined herself like a bird, beating its wings faster to make its rise into the open sky. Her attention snapped back to the trial, her whole body instinctively making adjustments as the incline went from nearly verticle to entirely vertical, and the claw marks of cats from long before nearly entirely disappeared - except for a single set. She knew who the claws had belonged to, and knowing that she was the only other cat to reach such a height gave her a surge of energy so strong that she felt weightless as though she were actually flying. Though her muscles and joints were finally beginning to grow weary as she nearly reached the canopy, she pushed harder, springing off her hind legs and launching herself upward. Leaves and branches brushed her as she ascended through them, but they did not hinder her. She felt her claws strike the edge of the tree’s tip, and with a final push, she hoisted herself upward, standing squarely upon the meager space, leaving only her hanging tail visible from the forest floor below.

She gazed out upon the world with wonder, seeing it was far bigger than she could have ever expected. She could see all the territories and well beyond them, watching cars pass on the roads so far below that they appeared like small beetles scurrying about in neat lines upon gray stone. Her chest heaved as she brought oxygen back into her quivering, aching body, but an expression of awe and wonder filled her face rather than a grimace of pain. The breathtaking view caused her to forget her original task as she savored a sight unseen by all but one other cat, until she heard a rustle in the canopy which snapped her attention to the trees around her. A tiny black head poked up, and she breathed a sigh of relief as she recognized it was the face of Walnut that stared back at her. He twitched his whiskers, then leaped over to the trial tree, hanging onto its side and gazing out at the world with her. “Have you ever been up here?” Branchpaw breathed, her attention returning to the view. 

“Actually, no, I haven’t,” Walnut replied. Though one might expect a squirrel’s voice to be extremely high pitched compared to a cat’s, his voice was only minorly higher. Still, he spoke with a heavy accent, as all clan symbols are known to do, and spoke fast - he was learning to control himself as he knew cats, unlike squirrels, had a hard time understanding those with such quick tongues. 

“It’s… There’s… I… I don’t think I have the words-”

“Yes, yes, yes, the world is very big and beautiful and wonderful and blah blah blah blah blah. You have a trial to finish, remember? Your brother has been down there waiting and I think he might-” The rodent was cut off as Branchpaw gently put a paw over his face.

“Thanks,” she retorted, a grin on her muzzle. Walnut frowned, but shrugged his shoulders and leaped back down through the canopy to the ground below. 

In most circumstances, the goal of the trial is to assess a cat’s aptitude for climbing and descending from even the most difficult of trees. But even for a clan of cats who were genetically and anatomically built for climbing, descending from such a difficult tree at the height achieved by Branchpaw would prove to be dangerous if done with a ‘straight down’ approach. So the she-cat took her time, leaping instead into one of the other surrounding trees and making her descent one branch at a time until she finally landed upon the ground with a soft thud. A purr of pride rumbled from deep within her as she stood tall before the others. Both the leader and the mentor let out heavy sighs of relief. Woodvein turned to Splinterstar, her tail flicking from side to side with amusement. “Now you see? I told you she was gifted,” she mewed. Splinterstar smiled and shook her head.

“Truly astounding,” she replied. “But to be fair, you were just as terrified as I was.” She turned to Branchpaw and stepped toward the apprentice, touching noses with her. “Well done, Branchpaw. You will make a remarkable boughwalker.” Branchpaw nodded, still panting and far too out of breath to respond. Walnut, who had been sitting on a branch above them chewing on an acorn, spat out a piece of shell and set the nut on the branch before leaping down beside Splinterstar.

“Mmhmm yeah we all knew that was going to happen. Last time I checked we were supposed to be testing two apprentices today, not one. So come on let’s go I’ve got things to do and places to be and-”

“And nuts to eat?” Splinterstar meowed, glancing at the squirrel with humor in her tone. Walnut frowned, his whiskers and tail twitching in unison.

“Yeah. And nuts to eat,” he replied with dull sarcasm. Splinterstar padded to Barkpaw, who was staring at the trial tree with terror in his eyes. She rested her paw gently on his shoulders and he flinched.

“Are you going to be ok?” she asked, her voice soft and soothing. Barkpaw gulped and shifted nervously on his paws. “All you have to do is put your paw on it, Barkpaw. There’s no shame in not climbing.”

Barkpaw heard her words, but he didn’t **hear **them. What he heard instead was “It’s ok to be a loser” - and that **wasn’t** ok. The cats of Lumberclan were all supposed to be equal with the exception of the typical ranks, but there had always been this unspoken sense of power within the boughwalker class that entirely shadowed over the leafwalkers. Boughwalkers were “true Lumberclan cats.” They were gifted climbers that used their unique anatomy and instincts to their advantage. With the exception of some Carrionclan cats, no cats in the territory could even begin to match the skill boughwalkers possessed in the trees. Leafwalkers, on the other hand, were like jokes to the rest of the clans, or so it seemed. They were nothing special. They possessed no unique skills, no unique talents. They were practically indistinguishable from Alderclan cats, with the exception of being allowed to keep their full tails, of course. To be a leafwalker was to be an embarrassment, most cats would say. He swallowed his fear, stiffening his muscles to quell his shaking, and climbed his way up onto the tree’s trunk. “Take it easy, Barkpaw,” Splinterstar called to him. He flattened his ears back, clenching his eyes shut. It was as though he could feel the height he was at, and it took every part of his focus to stop himself from going into hysterics. With determination, he took a single step.

“Just one paw in front of the other,” he whispered under his breath, recalling his training. His mind flooded with memories and greasy tears ran down his cheeks as he grit his teeth and clung to the impossibly smooth bark as much as possible with his claws. 

_ “Just one paw in front of the other, Barkpaw. You’ll be alright - I won’t let you fall.” Woodvein was standing beside the young apprentice with her tail wrapped around one of his legs as he cowered and shook atop a log just a foot off the ground. _

_ “I can’t do this! I just can’t! I can’t I can’t I can’t!” he cried, frozen in place as he sobbed. Woodvein sighed softly, moving herself closer so he could feel her fur. _

_ “I’ve got you,” she mewed. “Move with me, ok?” She lifted a paw, nosing into one of his paws to get him to lift his as well. Instead he recoiled and let out a shriek as he nearly leaped off the log to what he was sure would have been his certain doom. Woodvein jerked her tail in the opposite direction, steadying him and ensuring he wouldn’t fall. “I’ve got you,” she repeated reassuringly. Branchpaw, who had been excitedly climbing and leaping around the lower branches of the surrounding trees, jumped down to the ground and stood on Barkpaw’s other side. _

_ “Neither of us will let you fall, Barkpaw!” she exclaimed, her voice filled with hope. Barkpaw shook his head and gasped for breath as fear continued to keep its deathly grip on his rapidly beating heart. _

_ “I can’t do it!” he screamed, breaking down into harder sobs. Branchpaw’s hopeful expression turned to concern. She hopped up onto the log in front of Barkpaw, and gently placed her paw near his. She dipped her head to his level. _

_ “Barkpaw, open your eyes,” she mewed. Barkpaw kept his eyes clenched shut, heaving as he hyperventilated. “Barkpaw,” Branchpaw repeated. “Open your eyes please.” The young tom managed to ever so slightly open one eye, and instead of seeing the ground, he saw Branchpaw’s face staring back at him. He sniffled, holding his breath for a moment as he tried to regain it. He opened both of his eyes, each nearly black as his pupils were so wide that his irises were barely visible. “Just keep your eyes on me. Don’t look down,” the she-cat whispered to him. He nodded slowly, his heaving chest finally beginning to calm. Branchpaw took a step back, beckoning him to step forward. He raised a paw hesitantly, his gaze breaking from her for a split second - enough to make his breath catch in his throat as he caught sight of the ground below. “Barkpaw,” Branchpaw called to him. He turned back to her, shuddering. “Stay with me.” Every part of his body seemed aware of the height he was standing at, but he strained to keep his eyes on his sister. He stepped toward her, shaking and nearly losing his footing. Woodvein held her tail tighter around his leg and steadied him. He looked to her, his ears shoving toward her. _

_“I told you I’ve got you,” she mewed. Barkpaw nodded.__  
_ _“Y-yeah… thanks,” he muttered, leaning into her. He turned back to Branchpaw, who smiled widely at him.__  
_ _“Come on Barkpaw! Catch up to me,” she exclaimed, hopping backward. Barkpaw began to relax more, a smile even forming across his muzzle. He took another step forward, then another, and soon enough was bounding across the log to catch up with his sister as she hopped along._

His eyes snapped open and he breathed out slowly, clinging tighter to the bark of the tree. Keeping his eyes ahead, he took another step - then another, and another. Courage swelled within his chest. ** _I’m not gonna be a loser,_ ** he thought bitterly. ** _I can climb just as high as any other cat. _ **His steps turned from cautious and staggered to deliberate and even. As though they were working on their own, his legs carried his pace from walk to trot, his claws digging harder into the bark and straining the joints in his paws as he clung tighter than he ever had with each stride. 

“Take it easy Barkpaw!” Splinterstar called out to him. She had expected nothing less of Branchpaw to master the trial with ease, but this was entirely unlike Barkpaw from everything she had heard and witnessed. Woodvein was visibly shaken, and Branchpaw stared up in absolute horror.

“What in Starclan is he doing?” Woodvein exclaimed in a half hiss, snapping her attention to Branchpaw. The apprentice lurched at her mentor’s sudden exclamation, her ears pinning back and tail tucking between her legs.  
“I have no idea,” she squeaked, her fur bristling. Still, somewhere within the fear that clutched at her heart there was a spark of faith, and in a moment of sheer panic and desperation for the safety of her brother, she leaped forward with claws unsheathed and cried out. “Don’t look down!”

_ “Don’t look down, Barkpaw! You’ve got this!” A shadow of a branch bouncing with the weight of a shaking tom cat waved upon the ground beneath the light of the sun that drifted through the canopy above. The eyes of the tom’s sister and mentor looked down upon him from the higher branches. He could feel the weight of their stares as though they were standing on his back and digging their claws into his already aching sides. His focus stayed dead ahead, knowing they were right - if he looked down, he was doomed. He lifted a paw despite the motion of the branch bouncing beneath him, forcing himself to keep his eyes on the horizon. An instinctive pull seemed to drag his eyes down, but each time he felt it, he clenched them shut until the feeling subsided. With the reach of his paw, his focus shifted from keeping his eyes ahead to placing his paw at the right place on the branch… and he looked down. _

Barkpaw shook the distressing memory from his mind - the day he fell. The day he fractured his leg. The day that caused him and his sister’s trial to be two months too late. **He ** caused the trial to be late. All because **he ** couldn’t handle heights. A growl rose into his throat and his body seemed to go numb as rage filled every bone within him, pushing him forward as he kept his eyes trained on the unseen end of the tree. A trot turned to a lope as he crossed the more horizontal part of the tree. Next came a steeper incline, and he was ready. He pushed his full weight into his haunches and made his leap, teeth bared and claws extended. ** _Don’t look down don’t look down don’t look down don’t look down _ **he thought in the moment as he soared through the air. Confidence swelled within him, but his heart seemed to skip a beat as his focus faltered. The words echoing in his mind stopped and for a moment all was silent. His breath caught in his throat.

** _Look down._ **

In the split second his gaze drifted to the ground far below, terror clung to his mind and his muscles stiffened in unison. He let out a petrified yowl and a cry of pain as he slammed into the tree at full force, missing his landing completely. His claws scrabbled for grip on the smooth bark as he slid to one side. His stomach went hollow. ** _This is how I die. _ **Two claws snagged on a soft spot on the side of the tree and instinctively he reached up, catching his fall with each of his front claws, leaving the rest of his body to dangle below. He could hear his sister shouting something from the ground, his mentor saying something in a pleading tone, but their words didn’t reach his ears. He desperately tried to swing his hind end upward, but each time he lifted his weight and fell back, his claws dragged and slipped in the wood. His mind went blank, his vision swam and faded, he felt he would vomit. His claws slipped more. “I can’t…” he croaked, hanging nearly lifelessly in the air. His claws slipped again, and he prepared for a fall which would most certainly kill him. “I never could,” he whispered to himself. In his fading vision, he saw something racing up the tree toward him. “I wonder what it’s like in Starclan…” He began to retract his claws, accepting his fate.

“Well you’re not finding out quite yet,” Branchpaw growled, her voice strained as her claws hooked into her brother’s paws. Barkpaw let out a hiss, his eyes snapping wide open and his clarity returning for a split second.  
“Branchpaw?” he wheezed, dangling from her strong grip. He could see her dangling from the tree, her hind paws twisted and claws digging deep into the bark of the tree. Her long tail was curled around it, acting almost as a third limb to give her extra grip. “But it’s… against the… against…” Barkpaw’s words slurred and his eyes rolled back, his fear getting the best of him as he fell unconscious. Branchpaw grunted as he went entirely limp, her claws dragging in his paws and curling upward through his skin as she tensed to hold his weight. She strained, trying to drag him up, but she was still exhausted from her own trial and the adrenaline was beginning to wear off. She growled, pulling as hard as she could. It wasn’t quite enough and she slipped slightly, her tail tensing tighter to catch her own fall. A hiss escaped her as she felt a sudden sharp pain in her scruff, and she switched her gaze to the side to find Woodvein digging her teeth into the nape of her neck. The mentor pulled hard, dragging the she-cat up again and helping her balance herself enough that she could drag her brother up onto the bark with the help of Woodvein’s own claws. Branchpaw panted as she stood upon the tree, her brother laying at her side.

“I couldn’t let him die, Woodvein,” she mentioned between breaths. Woodvein looked down to the fainted tom, worry in her gaze.

“I know. We made a promise. Both of us.” She hoisted the tom up onto her back, Branchpaw moving behind her to help keep him from falling off of her. The tom slowly began to recover, but laid still on Woodvein’s back. There was nothing he could do now. His sister, his mentor - they broke the clan’s code all to save his life. Branchpaw felt him move slightly and her ears perked.  
“You ok?” she asked softly. Barkpaw was silent for a moment.  
“No,” he answered, burying his face into Woodvein’s fur. The trio finally made it to the bottom of the tree where Branchpaw helped Barkpaw slide off of Woodvein and land safely onto the bark below. Woodvein hopped off in a single bound as Branchpaw helped her brother climb down the roots one shaky step at a time. She rested her tail over his back, but he shrugged it off. “I can walk on my own,” he muttered. He walked with a staggering pace, wobbling from side to side slightly, his head low and tail dragging across the ground before he paused about five strides away from the tree. Branchpaw’s heart broke with every step he took, her perked ears folding back. Splinterstar approached the three cats slowly, her expression blank. Walnut was no longer there, most likely opting to go and gossip to his squirrel friends about what had happened. Woodvein trotted toward her, her posture low and ears turned slightly back. 

“Splinterstar I-”

“Take Branchpaw back to the apprentice den. I’ll deal with the two of you later,” the leader interrupted, her voice soft yet stern. Woodvein’s fur bristled. She opened her mouth to speak, but Branchpaw jumped in defensively.

“Splinterstar it’s not his fault! He’s not the one that broke the rules, I did!” she exclaimed. Some nearby warriors had heard the shouting and were coming to see what all the fuss was about, and Barkpaw could feel their stares of confusion and concern weighing heavy upon him. He kept his head low. Splinterstar’s ears perked as she heard the pawsteps and whispers of watchful warriors around behind them, and she lifted her head.

“Woodvein,” she called to the cowering mentor. “Take Branchpaw back to the apprentice den.” Woodvein nodded slowly, walking to Branchpaw and resting her tail on her back.

“Come on, Branchpaw,” she mewed quietly. Branchpaw tore away, her teeth bared.

“He doesn’t deserve to be punished! I do! Please just leave him alone,” she cried out, her lips curled back and claws unsheathing. Greasy tears welled in her eyes, but she blinked them away and wiped them with her paws. Splinterstar was silent, and gave Woodvein a subtle gesture. Woodvein took Branchpaw’s scruff in her teeth. “Get your jaws off me, mousebrain!” Branchpaw spat. “It’s not fair!” Woodvein ignored her, and despite her struggling and lunging, she dragged Branchpaw away, who soon fell into sobs and begged over and over for Barkpaw to not be hurt until her voice was too strained to speak and fell into silence. Splinterstar looked around at the warriors who were watching.

“Don’t you all have things to do?” she asked them, her ears flicking with agitation. None replied, and instead they scurried off to their duties without hesitation. She turned her attention back to Barkpaw.

“Come along,” she mewed once again to him.

“Why should I?” he asked bitterly, refusing to look at her. Splinterstar sighed softly.

“Because I asked you to, Barkpaw.” The apprentice grit his teeth in hesitation, but padded over to her reluctantly. “Thank you. Now please - follow me.”

“Where are we going?” Barkpaw asked, following as she began to walk out into the territory.

“You and I are going to have… a bit of a chat.” 


	3. Part 1: Lumberclan - Chapter 2

Barkpaw hobbled along, trying his best to not let it show how much his bloodied paws were hurting from the places that Branchpaw had hooked her claws. Warriors passed them by as they walked, watching them with curiosity. The further they walked, though, the less warriors they saw - and the more nervous Barkpaw became. He knew where they were headed, and it terrified him. The shining white of the horse skull and femur that marked the border between Lumberclan and Carrionclan came into view beyond the logs and brambles, and it shook Barkpaw to the very core. Splinterstar paused just in front of the skull and sat down, gesturing for Barkpaw to sit as well. The young tom complied hesitantly, trying not to show just how fearful he was of what she might do to him. “Are you ok?” she asked him kindly, tilting her head and looking at him with concern. Barkpaw jumped when she spoke, but quickly settled back on his haunches, hunched forward submissively.

“I’m fine,” he replied quietly. Part of him yearned to lean just a little more forward so he could lick his stinging paws, but he resisted. The leader frowned and leaned down to his eye level.

“Branchpaw did quite a number on your paws. Are you sure they’re not bothering you?”

“Why should it matter if they do?” Barkpaw asked, lifting his gaze to hers. His expression was bleak and lost. “You’re going to kill me anyways.” Splinterstar’s ears pricked and she sat up, blinking. For a moment she was quiet, but much to Barkpaw’s surprise - she burst out laughing. Barkpaw narrowed his eyes. “Really? This is funny to you? Dear Starclan you really are sick.” Splinterstar finished her chortling, rubbing her paws over her face.

“Barkpaw, where in Silver Pelt did you ever get the idea that I was going to  **kill ** you?” she asked, clear amusement in her tone. Barkpaw’s ears pricked and he lifted his head.

“...So you’re not going to kill me?” 

“Good Starclan, no!” Splinterstar exclaimed.

“Then why were you being so… you know… serious? And why did you bring me to  **Carrionclan** ?”

“Mm… well on second thought that  **was ** a bit of a cruel joke to act that way, I guess. But that’s really what it was - a joke. And I brought you here because it stinks. Nobody really comes here of their own free will so we’ll have plenty of peace and quiet to just talk.” Barkpaw frowned and folded his ears back.

“Thanks. I just had a traumatic event and you thought it would be the greatest joke ever to make me even more petrified. That’s real nice of you,” he muttered. Splinterstar sighed.

“I apologize, Barkpaw. I was just… I was hoping to make what I was about to say to you even more meaningful,” she responded. Her long tail twitched behind her and her eyes shot down to his paws. “You can feel that, can’t you?” Barkpaw gave her an odd look.

“Well I- huh? Oh. Yeah but it’s fine-”

“Clean them. Please for the love of Starclan above just clean them. I hate blood just about as much as I hate… well… Just clean them, alright? Then we can talk.” Barkpaw heaved a heavy sigh of relief and lifted each paw to lick the blood off. The wounds themselves had already mostly stopped bleeding by now, they just stung. Splinterstar let out a long sigh as well, smiling. “Better. Anyways - I just wanted to tell you how proud of you I am.” Barkpaw straightened his posture with disbelief.

“ **Proud ** of me? I nearly died! I nearly got Branchpaw killed! I made Branchpaw and Woodvein break the rules!” he exclaimed, his tail lashing behind him.

“Yes. Proud of you. And you didn’t  **make ** them do anything - they  **chose ** to.” Splinterstar reached over to him, placing a paw on his chest. “I’ve never met a cat so brave,” she mewed. Barkpaw jerked away.

“I’m not brave. I’m an  **idiot** ,” he spat. “I endangered myself and my clanma-”

“You didn’t endanger your clanmates, Barkpaw,” Splinterstar interrupted. “And most times, bravery is just idiocy made to sound more important.” 

“So you’re calling me an idiot.”

“You called yourself an idiot. I was just making a point,” Splinterstar answered. “But that’s not the point of why I’m talking to you right now. Barkpaw. The point is - I brought you here so I could ask you if you would like to be appointed as a patrol leader.” Barkpaw’s jaw dropped and his cluttered mind went silent. His entire body went still and his ears shoved forward.

“ **What?** ” he asked when he managed to find the words.

“I said I want to-”

“No I know what you said I just… I…  **why** ?” Splinterstar chuckled softly at his response.

“Barkpaw - despite what you did being ridiculously reckless, the bravery you showed is nearly unmatched in the clan right now. You did what even I couldn’t.” 

“Ha. That’s funny. That’s a good one. That’s the first funny joke you’ve made all day, actually. Of course you could do what I did. Except you could do it better because you’re a-”

“Leafwalker. I was a leafwalker. And I’m deathly afraid of heights.” Barkpaw was stunned once again, his breath catching in his lungs.

“ **You ** were a leafwalker? But… leafwalkers don’t become leaders,” he muttered, utterly shocked by the notion that Splinterstar could’ve possibly been a leafwalker. The leader smiled kindly, a glimmer of amusement in her blue eyes.

“Barkpaw, I can’t even exit my den or give announcements without nearly having a panic attack. When Woodvein told me about how you were doing, I had to laugh - you sounded just like me when I was your age! That’s why I told you that you only had to put your paw on the trial tree. Because that’s exactly what  **I ** did. There was no way in all of Silver Pelt that I would even try to just climb up onto the thing. I couldn’t and wouldn’t do it. I didn’t  **have ** to do it, and I knew that. You didn’t have to either, and yet you  **did** ,” she explained. “And leafwalkers most certainly can be leaders, you know. There have been a few of us, and hopefully you’ll be one too,” she added with a wink. Barkpaw looked down.

“I couldn’t stand it anymore, that’s all. My sister always overshadows me in everything and she just… I’m… I was sick of her always having to save me or calm me down. I wanted to prove to myself that I could do it and that I didn’t need her help.” Splinterstar nodded along as he vented his frustrations.

“And that’s what makes you so incredible, Barkpaw. You did it to prove it to yourself - not to get fame and fortune or glory. You just wanted to show yourself that you could overcome your fears on your own. That’s a trait I’d love to see more often in our clan. We all could use a little more self sufficiency and self pride, and that comes from having the courage to show ourselves that we are each capable of so much more than we think we are. As for your sister, she cares deeply about you, and it really shows. Have you let her know that you’ve been feeling overshadowed by her?”

“Well… no. I just thought it was… you know… obvious,” he muttered, looking down and curling his tail around himself. Splinterstar purred softly.

“Maybe she doesn’t think it is. I bet she thinks you’re pretty great.”

“Me? Great? Definitely not,” Barkpaw replied with a slight snort of laughter.

“Definitely! I’ve seen how you two interact, and I can tell she thinks you’re the best brother any cat could ever ask for. Maybe you can’t climb like her, but your skills on the ground are far more advanced than hers could ever be. I bet she wishes she could be like you.”

“Really?”

“Absolutely. She looks up to you just as much as you look up to her.”

“I… never thought about it like that…”

“Well, you won’t know for sure unless you talk to her. Tell her how you feel. Communication is vital, Barkpaw. Which brings me again to the point of our conversation. Do you accept the position of patrol leader?” Barkpaw flicked his tail in deep thought as he considered her proposition. Sure, it was a great honor - especially considering it typically would take a warrior many moons to even have a chance of obtaining the position - but it was also a lot of responsibility. He nodded after a moment.

“I’ll accept the position, but-”

“Excellent!” Splinterstar exclaimed, jumping to her paws joyfully. “You’re going to be incredible I just know it!” Barkpaw flattened his ears back with a frown.

“ **But** ,” he repeated. “You have to promise me that you’ll let Branchpaw and Woodvein be.” Splinterstar grinned and shook her head, chuckling softly.

“Do you think I’m going to hurt them?”

“Maybe not physically but-”

“Barkpaw. They’ll be fine,” she reassured him with a purr. He sighed and stood up slowly, wincing at the pressure on his aching front paws and the strain of his now throbbing muscles. He was beginning to feel the effects of his effort, and they certainly weren’t pleasant.

“Then yes. I’ll take the position,” he mewed.

Back at camp, Branchpaw paced restlessly outside the entrance to the apprentice den, her tail lashing from side to side. Woodvein sat with her head hung low and her ears flattened back. She had given up on trying to force Branchpaw into the den and instead had accepted that the she-cat had no intention of sitting quietly in the apprentice den to wait as she had been told. She couldn’t blame her, though. There was no telling what was about to happen, and though she knew Splinterstar was a good cat with a kind and gentle heart, the way she reacted, the direction she took him in… it was all extremely concerning, and some small part of her feared that the leader would return without the tom at her side. 

What happened instead was the entire opposite. Barkpaw returned first, his expression blank as he hobbled along on his aching paws. Branchpaw paused her pacing, her ears perking as she caught her brother’s scent. “Barkpaw!” she cried out, bounding over to him and rubbing against him with clear relief. Barkpaw stood still, staring ahead.

“She’ll be coming to talk to you next,” he mentioned in a flat tone. Branchpaw backed away, her ears turning back once again.

“What… what happened out there?” she asked, searching her brother for answers.

“You’ll know soon enough,” he answered. Truth was, he was holding himself back from bursting into laughter. Splinterstar had a point - this was a bit more funny than he had originally felt earlier. Or, at the very least, it was funny to not be the victim of it. The leader came into view, trying to keep a straight face as she approached Branchpaw. Barkpaw looked back at her and couldn’t help but let out a little snort of laughter. Splinterstar let a small grin through, but quickly returned to a blank expression. Branchpaw looked at them both with worry.

“What? What’s going on? Why are you two laughing?” she demanded, her fur beginning to bristle.

“Laughing? I’m not laughing-” Barkpaw retorted with a grin. Splinterstar shook her head. 

“Branchpaw,” she began. Her eyes lifted to Woodvein. “Woodvein. Both of you deliberately disobeyed the rules of the trial. Our code states that the trial for determining rank must not be interfered with under any circumstances.” Woodvein looked away in silence. Branchpaw dug her claws into the ground, about ready to fight her own leader.

“The rules are ridiculous,” she spat. “There’s no reason to let brave and talented cats like my brother die just because they have a fear of heights! If you ask me the entire system is pointless! We’re all supposed to be equal and yet the leafwalkers never get any credit. It’s absurd and I’m sick of it!” Her final words echoed through the forest like a roar as she glared with fury at Splinterstar.

“I agree,” Splinterstar replied. “Completely and totally, I agree. The trial rules are ridiculous and we leafwalkers don’t get as much credit as we should. Prejudice is common even within this peaceful clan of ours.” Branchpaw’s eyes widened and Woodvein’s ears perked.

“Wait, what?” Even Barkpaw looked at her in shock.

“As far as I’m concerned, the rules of the trial are part of the trial themselves. Sometimes in the life of the clan, cats have to take a chance and sacrifice themselves for their clanmates, even if it means breaking rules or codes. Some cats allow themselves to be blinded by the need to follow every law to a fault at the expense of their own or their clanmates’ safety. The best and bravest cats know that sometimes, rules must be broken. Both you and Woodvein have shown that you have mastered this mindset. Not only did you both risk your place in the clan, but you risked your  **lives** to save Barkpaw. That takes incredible amounts of courage, and I would be entirely in the wrong if I would refuse to reward such an act.” She looked to Barkpaw. “Barkpaw has already taken the offer I am about to give each of you, and it is up to both of you whether you wish to join him or not.” Barkpaw smiled, yet something inside him was pained. He felt stupid suddenly, for even considering that he might actually be special. Of course his sister would get offered the position. Of  **course ** breaking the rules was a good thing. Branchpaw calmed, her fur smoothing out and claws retracting.

“Position? What position?” she asked, intrigued yet somehow not surprised. Her brother, though terribly wrought with anxiety and a miserable fear of heights, was in fact highly skilled on the ground and, as far as she was concerned, far stronger mentally than any cat she knew. After all - it takes an especially powerful mind to overcome one’s own instincts as he so often tried to do.

“Patrol leader,” Barkpaw replied before Splinterstar even began to speak. “She wants us all to be patrol leaders.” Woodvein turned, standing padding to Branchpaw’s side.

“Patrol leader?” she asked curiously, a slight bitterness in her tone. “And how exactly are we supposed to believe you about this? You know, since you clearly thought it would be a wonderful idea to put us all into a panic for seemingly no reason.”

“She only did that to make the real news even more of an exciting thing,” Barkpaw mewed matter-of-factly. Branchpaw reached out and swiped him with a paw, earning a hiss from him in return.

“Don’t you dare ever make me panic like that again,” she snapped, a growl rising in her throat.

“It was her idea!” Barkpaw exclaimed, rubbing the spot where she swiped him. Woodvein stepped between them, her hackles rising.

“Enough, you two. You can save your sibling bickering for later,” she growled, her focus on Splinterstar. “Patrol leader is perhaps the most coveted position a warrior of this clan can get. So why us?”

“Because you deserve it,” Splinterstar replied. “Each of you do, after what I witnessed. Including you, Woodvein.” Woodvein flexed her claws, her tail lashing. She had been vying for the position ever since she became a warrior. It was the entire reason she had even agreed to take Barkpaw in as a second apprentice - she wanted to prove her worth by taking the kit everyone was sure would be designated as a medicine cat and give him the confidence to become a warrior. Yet here she was, with both of her apprentices receiving the position before even earning their warrior names, and with her earning the position by breaking the clan’s sacred code. And yet, she was calmed by another thought. If it hadn’t been for her agreeing to take on Barkpaw as an apprentice - if it hadn’t been for her seeing him as if he were her own son - the chances she would’ve gotten the position would have in fact been very slim. She inhaled sharply and let out a long drawn out breath, slowly swaying her tail and retracting her claws completely.

“I accept the position,” she replied. “Thank you for the opportunity. Just… maybe don’t be so dramatic about it next time.” Splinterstar chuckled softly and nodded.

“Will do, Woodvein. I’m sorry for making you feel so nervous,” she mewed in reply. “What about you, Branchpaw?”

“I… I mean, of course I accept,” she replied. “How could I not?” Splinterstar purred happily, her tail flicking behind her.

“Thank you all so much. Truly - I couldn’t have asked for a better trial day, and I couldn’t ask for better clanmates,” she declared, puffing her chest with pride. 

“Just - one more thing?” Branchpaw added, her muzzle twitching slightly. “Don’t ask me to apologize for my behavior.” Splinterstar nodded.

“Of course, Branchpaw. I’d never dream of it. If a clan’s warriors can’t question their leader’s authority, the clan would crumble. A leader will always need more than one voice of reason - which is just another reason I asked for you to be a patrol leader,” she answered, winking to the young she-cat. She lifted her head, looking to the sky where the sun waned toward its setting side. “Barkpaw, Branchpaw, we best be on our way.”


	4. Part 1: Lumberclan - Chapter 3

To be offered the position of patrol leader was in fact one of the highest honors within Lumberclan. It was a rank that had been part of the clan since before it was even a clan at all, and was given only to the cats the leader trusted most. Cats given this rank were considered leader material - in fact, nearly every leader appointed to Lumberclan had been given the rank of patrol leader. If a deputy is a leader’s right-paw cat, the patrol leaders are on their left. Rather than random warriors being asked to lead patrols, the job of organizing and leading patrols is always given to patrol leaders. This way, if the patrol were to run into any kind of trouble, clanmates could always rely on their patrol leader to lead them to safety. Patrols run by patrol leaders proved to be so effective and efficient as opposed to patrols organized only by the leader and deputy and only led by any old warrior that even Alderclan had taken to implementing the position into their own ranks. Patrol leaders are also involved along with the deputy and medicine cats in any deliberations the clan leader makes. They voice their opinions and ideas freely, and are considered to be the voice of their clanmates during initial deliberations until full clan meetings are assembled. 

Woodvein’s mind was cluttered as she thought about the position and the honor that came with it. She was relieved that she had finally received the position, but something still tugged at the back of her conscious. It didn’t seem right. Sure, the soon-to-be-warriors had performed exceptionally well during their trial, but did it really make them worthy of being patrol leaders? She bounded after Splinterstar, trotting alongside her as she led Barkpaw and Branchpaw toward the medicine den to receive traveling herbs before making the journey to the moonlake. “Before you go,” she began, her eyes on Splinterstar. “Can I… speak with you for a moment? Alone?” Splinterstar gave her a slightly confused look, but nodded.

“Of course! Barkpaw, Branchpaw, just stay at the medicine den until I’m ready for you both, please. Ask Oneheart for traveling herbs - oh! And make sure to ask for an extra helping for me, if you would.” The siblings nodded, padding toward the medicine den in silence. Barkpaw paused before entering, lifting his head and looking back at the two she-cats. He wrinkled his muzzle slightly, suppressing the worry that coursed through him, then ducked down and slipped under the huge fallen tree which served as a roof for both the medicine den and the nursery. Woodvein watched as the tom disappeared after his sister, then turned back to Splinterstar. The two of them padded out of the camp area toward the edge of the territory on that side. They sat together on a log and looked out over the dried cornfields of the neutral zone by twoleg path, watching as the members of the resident deer herd scavenged the stalks for any scraps left behind by the harvest. “So what’s bothering you, Woodvein?” Splinterstar asked. 

“Don’t get me wrong I’m… I’m thankful for being offered the position of patrol leader but… I’m admittedly a bit confused,” Woodvein replied. Splinterstar sighed softly and nodded.

“I know. I am too,” she answered. Woodvein looked at her, wrinkling her muzzle.

“You are? But you made the decision - why did you do it?” Splinterstar turned her ears back and swung her tail from side to side behind her.  
“Walnut told me to.” Woodvein frowned, looking away.

“You can’t keep blaming things on others, Splinterstar,” she muttered. “That’s no sign of a good leader.”

“No, I really mean it. Walnut told me that I should - **days **ago,” Splinterstar explained, looking over to Woodvein as the warrior turned back to her.  
“And you just… agreed to it?”

“I’ve only been a leader for three moons, Woodvein. Chestnutstar always said to trust your clan symbol no matter what so… I did.” Woodvein turned back toward the cornfield.  
“But since when as a clan symbol ever been allowed to choose patrol leaders? That’s not their job.” 

“Your right. It’s not. And honestly, I wasn’t going to  _ actually  _ do it, but once I saw their performance in their trial I figured… this must be what he was talking about. Maybe… maybe he had a point.”

“How will the rest of the clan feel about this? And what about all the patrol leaders that practically worked their tails off to earn their ranks?” Woodvein asked. “You’re not thinking about the consequences. I’ve been noticing that pattern an awful lot with you,” she added, a slight bitterness in her tone. Splinterstar looked away, sulking.

“I couldn’t just ignore it,” she muttered. “Obviously he was onto something. I don’t know how but…  **somehow ** he knew. There has to be a reason he would mention it so early on - there had to be a reason he’d mention it at all.” She paused for a moment, lifting her head. “Do you think there’s a squirrel equivalent of a medicine cat? A squirrel that can receive visions?” she asked, turning back toward Woodvein, who gave her a disappointed look.

“Maybe?” she answered, uncertainty and suspicion clear in her voice. Splinterstar snickered softly.

“I bet they get their visions from the Great Peanut in the Sky,” she mused sarcastically, raising a paw up to the canopy as she spoke. Woodvein tried not to laugh, but couldn’t help but to let out a quiet chuckle. Splinterstar smiled over at her. “Anyways - I don’t see what we have to lose. Thanks for bringing it up, though. I’m glad you’re able to voice your concerns with me,” she mewed. “I do have to be going, though. We can talk more later after the ceremony is complete.” With that, she hopped off the log and loped back into the camp area. Woodvein turned an ear back to listen as Splinterstar called the siblings out of the medicine den and sighed heavily, lifting her eyes to the sky.

“We have everything to lose,” she muttered to herself. “I just hope she’ll be able to handle the consequences.”


	5. Part 1: Lumberclan - Chapter 4

“Sorry for the delay, you two. Woodvein had a few concerns she wanted to discuss with me,” Splinterstar called out as she slowed to a trot and then to a halt before Barkpaw and Branchpaw. Barkpaw looked up at her.

“What kinds of concerns?” he asked warily. “Is it about you offering me the position? I knew shouldn’t have taken it.” He looked down at the ground, turning his ears back. Branchpaw placed her paw over his.

“That’s not true, Barkpaw. I’m sure it had nothing to do with you. I’m sure it had nothing to do with either of us,” she reassured him, a positive smile on her muzzle. 

“Well… it was regarding offering you both the positions. But everything is ok now - she understands why I did it,” Splinterstar explained. Before Barkpaw could even respond, she waved her tail dismissively. “So. How did you both like your first taste of traveling herbs? Did you get extra for me?” Branchpaw rested her tail over Barkpaw’s to calm his nerves and assure him that she was there to listen as always. Barkpaw exhaled slowly.

“They were alright, I guess. I expected them to be more bitter, I think.”

“I actually quite liked them,” Branchpaw mewed. She pushed a bundle tied up in a dock leaf toward Splinterstar. “Here you go, just as you asked for!” Splinterstar purred contentedly.

“I rather like them too, Branchpaw,” she replied, carefully cutting open the little package open to reveal her rather meager ration of chamomile, daisy, and a small piece of what the cats called ‘black bark mushrooms’ - known to two-legs as Chaga mushrooms. She snapped it all up rather swiftly, licking her muzzle once she had finished. She looked up to the sky, sun starting to dip lower in the sky and painting the horizon various shades of pink and purple. “Let’s get moving. If we make good time, we should get there they moon rise.”

The trio took the path the clan would always take, exiting through the north of the territory and travelling northwest through the orchards of the neutral zone before crossing the thunderpath, following the twoleg path beneath the stone arch and padding upwards toward the lake - a one acre pond at the back of the main campus of the college grounds the cats called home. The journey was shortest for Lumberclan cats, but taxing all the same - and after the long day they had, the two siblings made the journey much slower than perhaps it would typically be. Splinterstar walked ahead of them, doubt creeping into her mind that perhaps she truly hadn’t made the right decision. Barkpaw turned toward his sister as he padded with a hobbled gait alongside her. Before he could even begin to speak, she spoke first. “Are your paws ok?” she asked in a low whisper. Barkpaw looked away.

“Yeah, they’re fine. The burdock Oneheart put on them is helping to dull the pain a lot. I’m just… sore,” he answered truthfully. Branchpaw looked at him worriedly.

“Well I’m glad you’re feeling alright,” she mentioned at a length, lifting her head and setting her gaze on what lay ahead. There was silence between them for quite some time as they padded along. Splinterstar paused at the edge of the thunderpath, looking both ways as all cats of the territories were taught to do. 

“Branchpaw, can I ask you something?” Barkpaw asked suddenly, breaking the quiet. Splinterstar flicked her gaze back to the two of them and smiled slightly, then returned her attention to watching for monsters before waving her tail and beginning to cross. The siblings followed her, Branchpaw looking to Barkpaw.

“Sure! What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong I just - I wanted to ask you-” Splinterstar shot him a slightly confused look. He picked up on it, glanced to the side, coughed, and started again. “I wanted to  **tell ** you,” he began, looking back at Splinterstar, who gave him a wink and turned her gaze back to the path as they reached the stone arch. Branchpaw blinked at him.

“Yes?”

“I… appreciate your concern about me, but I’m worried if you… if you always try to save me then I’ll… never…” He sighed heavily and looked down at the cold, dark, hardened path beneath his paws. His fur ruffled as he began to shake slightly. “Nevermind,” he whispered. Branchpaw stopped, her ears pricking.

“That you’ll never what?” she asked, her confused gaze turning to one of apprehension. Splinterstar paused as well, turning back toward them. The sun was dipping further below the horizon, stars beginning to gleam in the darkening sky above as the crescent moon shone brighter with each passing moment. Still, even though it was getting late, Splinterstar was no longer in a hurry. If Barkpaw felt it best to speak now, then it was best to give him the space to do so. Instead, all eyes being upon him made the tom shake even more. He felt sick to the stomach, his entire body going practically numb as he froze. Splinterstar approached cautiously, but Branchpaw shook her head. “Give him room,” she said softly. 

“Does this… happen a lot?” Splinterstar asked. “I’ve only seen him get like this when he’s been off the ground.” Branchpaw sighed.

“He’s going into a panic. It happens way more than he’d want to admit, yes,” Branchpaw replied in a hushed tone. Splinterstar felt her heart drop. It was as if all at once, her confidence as a leader was entirely gone. Here, this poor cat was wrought with anxiety, and rather than training him to be a medicine cat as he probably should have been, not only was he becoming a warrior, but she had just given him the position as a  **patrol leader** . One spark of hope held strong within her - she knew how gifted he was on the ground and how powerful his drive to impress and improve was. She watched helplessly as Branchpaw approached her brother one step at a time. “Barkpaw?” she mewed, reaching a paw out toward him. Instead of being met with the shaking sobs she was used to from him, though, he uttered a low growl, his lips slowly curling back and his claws unsheathing. 

“Stop it,” he snarled between heavy breaths. Branchpaw stepped back, her ears folding back.

“Barkpaw I-”

“Just stop it!” he roared, his fur fluffing out completely. Branchpaw and Splinterstar both jumped at his sudden outburst, but Splinterstar leaped in front of Branchpaw, her fur bristling. 

“Barkpaw calm down,” Splinterstar warned, her tail lashing. Branchpaw stepped beside her, but before she could speak, Barkpaw began crying out.

“Stop it stop it stop it! All of you just stop!” He collapsed, starting to claw at his ears. Splinterstar fell back further behind Branchpaw, her posture low and ears pinned back. Branchpaw leaped instantly over to him, moving swiftly to his side and pressing against him without saying a word. It took a while, but Barkpaw’s paws fell slowly from his now-bloodied but thankfully untorn ears. His heavy breathing slowed to more gentle inhales and exhales. “I… I’m sorry I.. I just couldn’t… I’m…” He could barely speak a full sentence, sputtering and fumbling over his words despite calming down. He breathed in deeply and exhaled slowly. “I.. got too nervous and you all were staring at me and I just…”

“Barkpaw… are you sure you can handle the pressure of being a patrol leader?” Splinterstar asked suddenly, padding over to beside Branchpaw. Barkpaw looked away, but turned back to her after a moment.

“Yeah… I’ll be fine,” he replied, slowly rising to his paws. “I’m sorry I slowed us down.” Branchpaw stood with him.

“Are you sure? There’s nothing wrong with saying you aren’t ready,” she suggested gently. Her brother sighed heavily, gazing out past the darkness of the area beneath the stone arch. A loud rumbling was heard directly overhead, likely from a monster they called the metal snake which slithered over the arch and across the hill in a long and winding path. As the rumble faded into the distance, he stepped forward.

“Whether I’m ready or not is entirely in the paws of Starclan. We’ll find out once we get to moon lake.” Splinterstar lifted her head, standing tall. She turned to Branchpaw.

“I can’t exactly argue with that,” she mewed, though a hint of uncertainty still clung to her mind. Branchpaw didn’t answer, but instead bounded to her brother’s side. She tried to rest her tail over him comfortingly, but he shrugged it off. She paused, letting him pad ahead, but then shook her head and trotted after him. Splinterstar shook herself out, and broke off into a sprint to get ahead of them.

Moonlake was only a few more strides away, and though the vast expanse of mirror-like water reflecting the stars and moon perfectly upon its surface would have astounded any cat to come there for the first time, each of the trio had been here before - though for Barkpaw and Branchpaw it had only been when they were coming with Woodvein to the gathering, which was held as always at a nearby place the cats called “stoneplace.” As they neared, Splinterstar caught a familiar scent - one which made her fur stand on end and a purr rise in her throat. Her ears pricked and her tail waved. She bounded forward, hoping to find the cat who the scent belonged to sitting by the edge of the lake, but instead was hit with a considerably stronger scent of a different cat she knew. She slowed to a walk, tilting her head as the figure of a tall, lean, dark colored tom cat came into view sitting silently and staring into the lake. Her tail flicked as she motioned for the siblings to stay behind her. “Rotsight?” she called out. The cat by the lake hissed and jumped, his fur bristling as he turned swiftly to face her. He blinked twice, then glanced from side to side before smoothing out his fur and clearing his throat.

“Oh - uh - hey Splinterstar,” he called back to her. “It’s uh… it’s actually Rot **star ** now but… yeah. Or, well, I guess it  **will ** be once I get back to camp.”

“Carcasstar lost his last life?” Splinterstar asked, trotting up to him. The stench of the Carrionclan deputy - soon-to-be leader - was strong, but this smell of wretch and death was one she was all too well accustomed to, and it didn’t bother her in the least. The tom scratched at the back of his head with a hind paw.

“Yeah it was… mildly upsetting? I guess?” He paused, then shrugged. “Alright actually it’s kind of a funny story. See, he was trying to-”

“Was Scavengeheart here?” Splinterstar asked, completely cutting him off. He blinked twice again, then frowned.

“Does rotting flesh stink?” he asked sarcastically. “Of course she was here. I received my nine lives.” If cats could blush, Splinterstar would’ve been blushing bright red. 

“Oh. Ha. Yeah,” she muttered, bumbling her words as if she couldn’t remember how to speak properly. Rotstar gave her an odd look.

“Why, did you need something from us?” he asked. She shook her head.

“Oh no not at all I was just - you know what? Nevermind. You... you have a ceremony to get to.” Rotstar narrowed his eyes in suspicion, his lips drawing back into a blank half-frown. 

“Riiight. Right. Yeah. I’ll uh - I’ll get right to it.” He strode forward, passing her with a glance. She followed his eyes with a sheepish smile. He padded past the siblings, smiling. “You two keep an eye on her once you become warriors tonight, alright?” he mewed with a smirk. Barkpaw refused to meet his eyes, terrified that a leader of Carrionclan was right there talking to him, but Branchpaw laughed along.

“Will do,” she called out, watching with wonder as the cat broke into a graceful sprint, disappearing over the snakepath on the hill. She hopped over to Splinterstar, Barkpaw following at a slow walk. “What was all that about?” she asked curiously. Splinterstar sighed and smiled at her.

“It’s not important,” she mewed, padding to the water’s edge. Barkpaw padded to her left side while Branchpaw padded over to her right. “What is important, though, is that we get this done so we can go do your ceremony. We’re already quite late.” She looked to each, and they each gave her nods. Her eyes slowly closed and she reached out, holding a paw over the still water. “Starclan, look upon these two apprentices with favor. If it is their time to become part of our clan as warriors, grant them the eyes to see you and the will to feel your presence.” She gently tapped the surface, sending ripples across the pond. “Lumberclan’s history is one of struggle and of perseverance. We remember the sacrifice of Lumberflight, who gave her life to uphold the freedom we Lumberclan cats hold so dear. Our time here may be short, but may we all strive to be like her, each of our lives being so small and yet so meaningful that we are remembered through the generations just as a single touch creates endless ripples on clear waters.” As per tradition which the two had been taught during their apprenticehood, they each touched the water with their own paws, sending their own ripples. Splinterstar purred contentedly, laying between them. “Drink from these sacred waters, and rest your eyes so Starclan may open them.” Branchpaw was the first to comply, gladly taking her lap before curling up and resting her long tail over her face. Barkpaw was hesitant, terrified of what might be lurking beneath the water, and perhaps even more terrified that he would never see Starclan and he would never become a warrior. Still, he leaned forward, lapping the water slowly before lying on his side and closing his eyes as he tried to rest his restless mind.

He awoke with a start, his heart leaping to his throat and his stomach dropping as he found himself sitting precariously on a high branch of a tall, bare tree. He shook, clinging to the branch with all his might. His eyes were fixed on the ground so far below that he couldn’t quite make out whether it was stone or dirt beneath him. His breath caught in his lungs and he felt he wasn’t sure if he would suffocate to death first or fall to his grave.  ** _Keep yourself composed,_ ** he thought bitterly.  ** _This is a test. Starclan is testing me. They want to know for sure if I can handle this. Well, I can. I’ll prove it. My fear won’t stop me from being the best Lumberclan warrior I can possibly be. _ ** He gripped the branch beneath him harder, the dead wood cracking and splitting from his claws. The snaps brought more fear, but he held his breath, forcing his eyes closed. He lifted his head slowly, shakily. He exhaled, and opened his eyes.

What he had expected was a Starclan cat somehow floating above him ready to tell him that he passed the test, but instead, he found an even more strange sight. On a branch above and in front of him was an enormous bird - a raptor of some kind, clearly - with feathers that were black as the night sky above them. Barkpaw was not exactly a small cat, but this bird was at least twice his size. Its’ impossibly enormous wings were slightly open as if it were sunning itself. The apprentice stared at it in awe looking it up and down. It was a strange creature, a vulture of some kind with a bald head, but its tail was split and seemed all too long. Barkpaw swallowed hard, not sure why Starclan would send him a bird and not a cat. “Ex-excuse me?” he managed to stammer, his tail ducking beneath him. The bird turned its head slowly, showing him its strange and bulging bald face. Its beady eyes seemed to pierce his soul - dull blue grey rather than the dark brown he was expecting. It looked him over, then stretched its wings out - wings he was certain were the length of at least four full grown warriors each.

“Hello, Barkfall. I’m so glad I finally get to meet you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoop that's Part 1. Don't worry - Part 2 should be out very soon! I guess now is as good a time as any to explain that I'll be posting this work as each Part is finished. This means as soon as I'm done with a Part, I'll post it! Parts can be anywhere from 1 to ...I'd say max of 6 chapters long, so depending on the length of the Part, it could be a little while between Parts. That being said, I've only got a little more writing left for the last chapter of Part 2, so expect it super soon! Thanks again for reading and I can't wait to hear what you all think!


	6. Part 2: Carrionclan - Chapter 5

Rotstar cantered through the pastures beyond the orchard, horses lifting their heads and watching him with quiet gazes as he loped past. He slipped under the fence just outside the forested section of Carrionclan’s territory and slowed to a walk, padding into the woods. He paused, lifting his head and pushing his ears forward. A few foxlengths in front of him was the dip in the ground that led to what the clan called ‘the training pit’ - a strange mostly-round area that was lower than all the land around it, surrounded by trees and old compost piles which were never used anymore. He could hear the sounds of a mentor saying something to her apprentices, though he couldn’t exactly hear who it was. He padded along the outside, weaving between the trees and shrubs until he emerged to the main composts. Cats quietly feasting on the rotting livestock carcasses littered about the piles lifted their heads as he showed his face. He looked around at them all, wrinkled his muzzle, and bounded off to the boneyards, a section of forest behind the composts where all of the dens were located. The medicine den was closest - a makeshift hut built from cattle ribs and thatched grasses and briars. In front of it was an immense cow skull, worn perfectly brilliant white from decades of natural cleaning and littered with claw marks, each said to signify a vision or a visit from Starclan. Rotstar passed by the skull, his blue-grey eyes fixed on it for a moment until he felt himself suddenly bumping into something rather large and furry. Blinking, he turned his head and jumped back as he realized he had walked right into Scavengeheart. The massive, thickly furred torbie point she-cat looked at him with an amused smile. “So you decided to come back,” she mused. “I was worried you’d decided to stay away for good.”

“What? Me? Ha. Never,” Rotstar answered with a shy grin, rubbing the back of his head with his right paw, which caused the rabbit spine bracelet he wore rattle softly. It was Carrionclan custom for any cat who passed apprenticeship to wear some kind of scavenged animal remains upon their body in some way. Most would choose to make them during their vigil after their official ceremony for ending apprenticeship and becoming a warrior or medicine cat, often making some kind of jewelry using twine, discarded fishing line, discarded string, dried stretched intestines, and whatever parts they could find suitable for wearing. Scavengeheart, for example, wore a sort of crown made from crows talons - though she also added dried flowers because she thought they looked nice. She also wore a pendant made of fishing line tied around a cat’s claw - the heirloom passed down from generation to generation of medicine cats. 

“Maybe it would’ve been for the best if you had,” the she-cat joked with a smirk. Rotstar grinned and rolled his eyes.

“Yeah yeah yeah I know I’m going to be the worst leader ever,” he replied sarcastically.

“Quite possibly,” Scavengeheart retorted. “Regardless - are you ready?”

“I am,” Rotstar answered. He hesitated, looking over her face. Her smile faded. 

“I’m sensing there’s a ‘but’ to this,” she mentioned, her tone implying it was more of a question than a statement. 

“There is. I wanted to ask you something.” He lifted his head, looking around to make sure no other cats were listening. Scavengeheart gave him a confused look, dipping her head slightly.

“...Yes?” she asked, her large, furry tail swaying slowly behind her.

“So what’s with you and Splinterstar?” Rotstar asked nonchalantly. Scavengeheart felt her heart drop. She gulped and looked away.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she managed to reply. Rotstar frowned, his ears folding back.

“Yes you do. She asked about you at moon lake, acting all flustered. The very mention of you caused her pupils to dilate.” Scavengeheart let out a small noise, then grabbed him by his neck fur and dragged him into the medicine den. He hissed, but she put a paw over his mouth to hush him. He gave her a terrified look, panting and smoothing out his neck fur once she had let him go. “Was that seriously necessary??” he hissed, his fur bristling and tail lashing. 

“Yes, it was extremely necessary,” she hissed in reply, her own fur fluffed out so much that she seemed about twice her normal size. “I don’t want anyone thinking that I’m-”

“In a half-clan relationship with the leader of another clan?” Rotstar finished matter-of-factly. Scavengeheart looked away.

“I’m- we’re… we’re not… a couple,” she replied with a sigh, her fur shrinking back down again. Rotstar smoothed his own fur out and looked at her sympathetically.

“Please don’t lie to me.”

“I’m… I’m not lying. I do love her and she does love me but… since I’m technically not allowed to have a mate and she had to become leader, we just… came to the conclusion that staying as close friends is the best option,” the medicine cat explained. “So we’re not mates, and I… I can keep my position.” Rotstar’s lips turned up ever so slightly into a smile.

“Scavengeheart, you are by far the best medicine cat this clan has ever had. I wouldn’t ask you to step down over something as small as you having a relationship with another cat you love so much,” he replied. Her eyes widened.

“But… us having a relationship would be… breaking the clan code-”

“How long has it been going on?” She turned away.

“Since we were apprentices,” she replied quietly, sounding ashamed.

“And no one else knows?” She shook her head.  
“Not that I know of.”

“Then no one will ever have to know. I can keep a secret pretty well,” Rotstar mewed. She opened her mouth about to say something, but he turned his head and waved her off with a paw. “We can talk more later. As for right now, we have a ceremony to complete.”

The two slipped back out to the composts, padding their way to the tallest pile which served as the clan’s meeting place. Scavengeheart was the first to climb it, a pendant of string tied around a small tooth of some kind dangling from her mouth. She sat upon the peak of the pile, Rotstar lithely leaping from carcass to carcass, bone to bone until he reached a small ledge that had been packed over the years specifically to serve the purpose of seating an incumbent leader or, when necessary, the clan’s symbol. “May all cats old enough to scavenge their own meals come to the composts for a clan meeting,” Scavengeheart called out. Cats from all around the territory raised their heads at her booming call. Unlike the other clans whose cats were relatively similar in build, the cats that came creeping out from all edges of the territory were vastly diverse in color, size, shape, and coat texture. The apprentices all emerged from the training pit, led by that night’s leading mentor, a cat called Vixenshine. Carrionclan apprentices, unlike in the other clans, did not have one specific mentor assigned to each. Rather the rank of mentor was entirely separate from the rank of warrior - much like a patrol leader in Lumberclan, except in Carrionclan, a deputy must be chosen from those cats ranked as mentors and cannot be chosen from regular warriors. This system was created due to a need for diverse training, which could not be completed by having only one apprentice per mentor, especially since Carrionclan had many classes of warrior rather than two - combatants, strikers, sprinters, climbers, strategists, surveyors, diplomats, and multi-class (equal proficiency in more than one class). Each class of warrior had at least one mentor representing it, and each mentor would take time during all times of day and night to train the apprentices of the clan much like two-leg teachers would teach classes, often in the training pit. 

Rotstar watched as all the cats gathered below, their eyes all falling upon him. He took in a shaky breath and exhaled evenly, closing his eyes for a moment. All at once it seemed the gravity of the situation was setting in. Either that, or - his eyes snapped open and he turned his head. Directly beside him sat the ghostly figure of a glittering, glowing she-cat. Her fur was short and curly, colored white with splotches of dark blue, her body was long and lean and bony, her face angled sharply and considerably longer than it was wide, and her whiskers were heavily curled. Her eyes bulged with pupils nearly as wide as the orbs themselves, and her massive ears sat high on her head. She turned toward him, her ears twitching every which way much like a bats’. She was a ghastly site, but Rotstar looked upon her as an old friend - because to him, that’s what she was. He turned toward the crowd below, but shimmering betwixt the living were visions of the dead. His fur bristled, but not with fear and instead with pride. This gift to be a part of the past and consult the dead was one he had kept secret to all but one cat, lest he be discovered and forced into the role of medicine cat - a role he knew he would be miserable at - but it was a gift all the same. They were his friends, his family, and his allies, all believing in him to make the right choices. Still, it was a lot to take in. He was wrought with nervousness, fearing that perhaps he wasn’t the right choice for leader. His blood ran cold as he felt the spirit beside him shift closer. “You’ll be wonderful,” she whispered to him. He glanced to the side to acknowledge he had heard her, then looked up to Scavengeheart. The medicine cat was watching him, her thick tail lashing from side to side. Her ears twitched from slight annoyance. Rotstar stared at her for a moment, then jumped to his paws, realizing it was his job to initiate the rest of the ceremony.

“Thank y-” His voice cracked and he bit his tongue out of frustration. With a sharp exhale, he began again. “Thank you, Scavengeheart. We may now begin.” The she-cat smirked, holding back a laugh, but nodded and gestured to her side.

“Then join me, and before all our clan and Starclan, we shall begin.” She held out a paw, and he placed a paw on top of it. “Rotstar, Starclan has found you worthy and has gifted you with the nine lives of a leader, but to be a leader of Carrionclan is to be more than just a leader of our clan. The linear territories lie beneath your paws, Rotstar. Are you ready and willing to take on this responsibility?”

“I am ready. I am willing,” he replied, reciting what he had learned from Carcassstar as his deputy.

“Carrionclan’s history is one of great achievement in power, intellect, and democracy. Are you ready and willing to continue these traditions and support the betterment of all clans through a fair leadership and a progressive mind?”

“I am ready. I am willing.”

“Blisterstar, our first leader, understood that sometimes sacrifice is necessary for a clan of our power. I wear his claw, as all medicine cats of this clan have since his death, as a symbol of my willingness to sacrifice for the greater good of ourselves and the others who live within these territories.” She removed her paw from beneath Rotstar’s and lifted up the tooth pendant. “This tooth belonged to the fox which ended his life. Recite the story of Blisterstar and the blight of the fox.” The ghostly figure beside Rotstar turned away, giving him one last look before vanishing into the night air. He felt a heavy chill within him as the other spirits below vanished one by one.

“Blisterstar crossed the thunderpath to Darkwood with the intention of establishing a clan for refugees - for loners, outcasts, and those who could not function within our clans’ societies. His noble journey was cut short by a disdainful fox who pierced his ear and tore his throat, and he returned to our clan to die.”

“We remember the suffering Blisterstar was willing to endure for the sake of others, and it is important that you as leader carry the burden of selflessness. To signify the burden you now bear, I will pierce your ear with the very tooth that pierced his, and you will carry the tooth upon your neck for as long as you have your nine lives as leader. Are you ready and willing to bear this burden?” Rotstar sucked in a deep breath, clenching his eyes shut.

“I am ready. I am willing.” Scavengeheart stepped forward, holding his ear with one paw and taking the tooth in her teeth. She jabbed it the whole way through his ear, and he flinched hard, biting back a yowl of pain. Carcassstar had made it look so easy when he had it done. He made it look like it didn’t hurt at all. He had never expected it to be so excruciatingly painful. Scavengeheart pulled it the rest of the way through and then licked the blood gently from his ear. When the bleeding had mostly subsided, she placed the pendant over his neck.

“Rotstar, it is my honor and privilege to announce you officially as Rotstar, leader of Carrionclan and Guidance of the Linear Territories.” The clan went up into cheers, but Scavengeheart raised a paw. “Before we celebrate, Rotstar - who do you choose as your deputy?” Rotstar resisted the urge to scratch at his throbbing ear as he looked down at the clan in a wince. During his time as a mentor, one apprentice had always stood out as being the most loyal to her clan, and had well mastered her subject of choice, eventually being named herself as a mentor specializing in teaching strategy, she herself being an excellent example of the strategist class with her high intellect and knowledge of all aspects of clan life. Choosing her seemed to be the obvious choice.

“Deadtail,” he called, his blue-grey eyes falling upon a medium height chocolate ticked red tabby she-cat with a typical build. The she-cat grinned excitedly and pushed her way to the front before scrambling up the compost pile to sit beside Rotstar on the side Scavengeheart was not. Rotstar smiled at her somewhat sheepishly, trying not to show just how much pain he was in. “Do you accept the position of deputy and all duties that go along with it?”

“Of course I do!” she exclaimed. Scavengeheart nodded.

“Carrionclan,” she began, “Behold your new leader and deputy, Rotstar and Deadtail!” The three gazed out onto the crowd, and the cheers echoed throughout the territories. Rotstar purred contentedly despite the stinging and throbbing, but his eyes caught sight of a faint light in the forest above the boneyards. He looked out onto it, his smile fading as he saw the ghostly she-cat standing silently upon a branch, her tail swaying as she stared at him with a solemn gaze. He wanted so badly to call out to her and ask her what was wrong, but before he could even consider it more seriously, she faded once again, leaving him with a sinking feeling deep in his gut. Something was very, very wrong.


	7. Part 2: Carrionclan - Chapter 6

The new leader of Carrionclan sat inside the leader’s den, marveling at how much space there was inside. It hadn’t occurred to him just how massive it was before, nor how far from the rest of the clan it was. The den itself was hardly a den at all. In fact - it was actually the immense skeleton of an old Angus bull, lying far closer to the Fieldclan border than anywhere close to the other dens of the clans in the boneyard. Its enormous rib cage created the main structure of the den, and thatched reeds covered with a brick-like mud mixture domed around the entirety of it, making it more like a rather sophisticated dwelling than a simple den. The hardened mud had small holes picked into its sides between the ribs, just enough to see out of and enough to bring enough ventilation in, but not enough to allow rain or other moisture to get in. The entrance was one big hole at the end of the rib cage toward the tail end, decorated with small bones and covered by a sheet of lamb’s skin. Something about the emptiness of it all was rather unsettling to the tom. On any other occasion he would be comforted by the soft glow of the dead and the quiet whispers of the past, but this night was eerily quiet, cut only by the chirping of the occasional cricket and the distant hooting of an owl somewhere in the forests of Alderclan.

Rotstar curled up, covering his face with his tail as he tried to ignore the loneliness and the throbbing in his ear. Just as he began to close his eyes, his head snapped up as he heard the sound of trotting pawsteps coming from Fieldclan territory. The footfalls were far too heavy and quick to be a Fieldclan cat. He sniffed at the air and nearly gagged as an overwhelmingly strong scent of fox flooded his nostrils. Luckily, it wasn’t any ordinary fox - it was the Carrionclan symbol, the piebald red fox called Gangrene, affectionately known to the clan simply as Green. “Carcassstar? You in there?” the gruff voice of the fox whispered from outside.

“Uh… actually he uh-” Rotstar was cut off as a red and white snout poked in through the entrance, pushing the lamb skin to the side. The fox’s black and white nose twitched.

“Oh. Hi Rotsight. What are you doing in the leader’s den?” Green asked, withdrawing his snout. Rotstar flicked his tail in agitation, his ears folding back slightly. The movement made him let out a hiss as it shot waves of heat and searing pain emanating from the piercing in his left ear. He shook himself out and stood slowly, arching his back as he stretched before slipping out of the den. The fox looked down at him, his head tilted slightly to the side. “Wait… Rot **star** , I’m guessing?” Rotstar nodded, yawning.

“Yep. Carcassstar lost his last life fighting a vulture and a small flock of crows for a fresh calf carcass. The bad news is, he died and now I have this miserable hole in my ear,” he replied, raising a hind paw to scratch at the hole but quickly putting it back down after realizing that messing with it may not be the best idea. “The good news is, now we have a fresh calf carcass and a fresh cat carcass.” Perhaps to any other clan beyond the linear territories, this would sound horrifying and even barbaric, but Carrionclan prided itself on being a clan of resourcefulness and hated to let any viable meat go to waste - even if it was a member of their own clan. Cats were not often burried unless they died of illness, and instead provided meals to the rest of the clan. Other clans, when deemed appropriate or necessary, would sometimes bring their own dead to Carrionclan for ‘disposal.’ As bizarre as it may seem, the clan sees this as an act of honoring the dead by giving the bodies new purpose. Sometimes, if clanmates feel so moved to do so, parts of those clanmates who passed will be preserved and kept.

“I wish I were surprised to hear it. Poor tom never knew how to pick his battles properly,” Green replied, wrapping his bushy tail around himself and tilting his nose toward the sky.

“I’m assuming you had news for him?” Rotstar asked, trying to turn the subject back to whatever it was the fox was so intent on coming to say. Green looked at him and smiled faintly.

“Well, because you’re not him, I can put it as bluntly as I want.” He turned his nose fully to the sky again, his smile fading. “I think he may have allowed a war to start.” Rotstar’s ears flattened back against his head and he cringed from the pain.

“That’s impossible. If that were the case, I would’ve known,” he replied, his tail thumping on the ground in agitation. 

“It sounds more to me like he kept a lot from you.” 

“Again, impossible considering I was the one doing most of the work anyways,” Rotstar snarled in a low growl. Green sighed heavily, flopping down to the ground.

“Face it, Rotstar - the territories have been going through a phase of miserable leadership. It wasn’t just Carrionclan that suffered last generation, Lumberclan suffered heavily, and from what I’ve heard, it seems like they’re still suffering.”

“Splinterstar is a competent enough leader, from what I’ve seen.”

“And yet she’s falling apart. I’ll let her speak that for herself at the next gathering, though,” Green muttered, exhaling sharply through his nostrils.

“Larkstar has been doing a fantastic job, at least,” Rotstar retorted, puffing out his thickly furred chest. Green gave him a doubtful look.

“Larkstar doesn’t even want to  _ be  _ in Fieldclan right now.”

“That’s a lie. He would never leave his clan.”

“He’d leave it for you,” Green replied, lifting his head. Rotstar gave him an incredulous look and turned away bitterly.

“Just because he would doesn’t mean he will.”

“With the way things have been going there recently? I have my doubts. Which leads me to Alderclan-”

“Alderclan can deal with their own problems. If it were up to me, I’d-” Green sat up, flicking his tail out.

“It is up to you now. You have to remember that.” Rotstar opened his mouth to respond, but shut it and hung his head. “Alderclan is growing more and more radicalized by the day. Oak is in a panic and hasn’t stepped hoof into the territory for the past two moons due to just how bad it’s become. Fieldclan is facing a grave threat from them - one they won’t be able to win. All the cats they’ve been losing recently? It’s from the disputed zone. They’ve been fighting each other tooth and claw over that tiny section of shrubby forest for who knows how long now, but Fieldclan cats can’t take on Alderclan cats on their own.” Rotstar felt his stomach go hollow at the thought.

“Larkstar would have told me-”

“Larkstar doesn’t want you to worry more than you already are. He thinks he can handle it.” Rotstar lifted his head, looking toward the stars with Green.

“But he can’t,” he muttered softly, a shiver going down his spine. He turned toward the fox. “Can you tell him to come meet me here?” Green stretched with a yawn, then shook himself out and gave his tail a few flicks.

“I could, but that would be rather risky, don’t you think?”

“Two leaders are welcome to meet whenever and wherever they wish,” Rotstar replied, his tone somewhat harsh.

“Then I’ll be sure to let him know.” With that, he broke into a brisk trot as he disappeared behind the large hills of dirt and brambles at the border. Rotstar heaved a sigh and wiped at his face with a paw, curling his tail around him. A chill ran through his veins and a light appeared behind him.

“Something is troubling you,” a feminine voice called to him. He turned, his weary eyes catching sight of Nameless as she sat tall atop the leader’s den. 

“Your strange behavior at the ceremony wasn’t exactly helpful, but yes. You’re right,” he muttered, idly kicking a rock to the side. The ghostly she-cat leaped down from the den and sat in front of him, her massive eyes staring into his.

“You will have to excuse my odd behavior from the ceremony. The leader’s ceremony has always been… jarring to me.” She lifted a paw, licking at it and running it over her face and ears. Before Rotstar could even respond, she gave him a burning look, sending a violent shiver down his spine and turning his blood to ice. “As for Larkstar,” she began, her voice echoing as a low growl in the tom’s ears. Rotstar gulped and looked away. His attempt to avoid her gaze was fruitless as she appeared before him, staring into his eyes. “What are you going to do now?”

“I…” Rotstar paused, his voice cracking. “I can’t leave him,” he finally muttered. “Not now. Not ever. I just… can’t.” 

“So you would betray your clan?” Nameless asked, her tail lashing behind her. Rotstar looked her in the eyes and shoved his ears forward.

“The clan could live on without me. I’d rather betray my clan than my heart.” He fully expected something terrible to happen, but instead, the she-cat softened her expression.

“Good. That’s exactly what I wanted to hear,” she mewed. Rotstar’s eyes widened.

“You  _ want  _ me to betray my clan? What in Starclan is wrong with you?”

“Your instincts are strong, Rotstar. I’d keep them that way, if I were you.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“If you left him now, there would be no cat left that you truly trusted - likewise, there would be no cat left that he truly trusted. If you left him now, your clans would fall apart. Likewise… if either of you are discovered and you are exiled, there could be worse consequences.” Rotstar shuddered at the thought. The amount of trust and power she placed on him was… uncomfortable, at best - panic inducing at worst. To think the clans would fall apart just because of a lost relationship or just from him being exiled? What could possibly be so important about him that leaving the clans would cause such a catastrophy? He opened his mouth to speak his questions, but Nameless raised a paw to silence him, turning toward the Fieldclan border. “Save your questions for another time. Smooth your fur and calm your quivering nerves, Rotstar. I will discuss more with you later.” She vanished with a sudden gust of wind, and though it made him shiver, Rotstar inhaled deeply and smoothed his fur, only to be jostled again when a quiet voice spoke from beside him.

“Her again?” Rotstar looked to his side and blinked as his vision panned downward. A fawn colored tom sat beside him, looking up at him. The tom was considerably shorter than Rotstar, with stumpy-looking legs and broad paws, large ears, a very round face, and a short body. He wore five feathers behind his left ear - specifically those once belonging to a meadowlark. 

“Yeah. Did Green come to see you?” Rotstar asked after exhaling with a gentle sigh. The tom nodded.

“I started making my way here as soon as I saw him trotting down the hill. Congratulations on finally making it to leader,” he mewed. “Took you long enough,” he added jeeringly, brushing up against his leg with a purr. Rotstar gave him a sheepish smile and leaned down, purring and gingerly grooming the small tom’s forehead.

“Well that’s good,” he murmured between licks. “You’re a sight for sore eyes.”

“You mean sore ears,” the tom pointed out, looking up to the hole in Rotstar’s ear. He sat on his haunches, reaching up and wrapping his paw’s around Rotstar’s neck, pulling his head down so he could start grooming the wound. Rotstar flopped onto the ground, tilting his head toward him.

“Mmm… yeah that sounds about right. And thank you.”

“For cleaning the hole or for congratulating you on becoming leader?”

“Yes,” Rotstar answered, grinning. He lay there for a moment, enjoying the company and comfort of the tom, but his smile slowly began to fade as he recalled what Green had told him. “You don’t feel like you have to hide anything from me, right, Larkstar?” he asked suddenly, looking toward the tom. Larkstar paused mid-lick and lifted his head.

“Of course not!” he exclaimed, his whiskers twitching. Rotstar’s gaze became more troubled.

“Your whiskers…” he muttered, hoisting himself upright onto his haunches. Larkstar followed his eyes, his cheerful expression turning to one of guilt. “Talk to me, Lark. What’s going on. I need to know - not just as your mate, but as a leader of the clans.”

“I can handle it, I promise. I just need time,” Larkstar answered, looking away. Rotstar reached out, placing a paw on Larkstar’s jaw bone and gently turning his face back toward him.

“Half of your clan is dead, Lark. That’s not handling it.”

“Well it’s not like anyone else even bothered to offer support,” Larkstar grumbled, turning his eyes to the ground.

“No one offered support because we all thought we could trust you when you said it was due to a prey shortage.” The Fieldclan leader’s fawn fur began to bristle.

“If it were really a food shortage bad enough to pick the entire clan off one by one, every single one of us would be starved,” he growled, pulling away from Rotstar. Rotstar opened his mouth to speak, but Larkstar cut him off. “And no, the reason no one offered support was because nobody actually cares about what happens to us,” he spat. 

“I care,” Rotstar replied, his voice softening.

“Clearly you don’t!” Larkstar replied in as quiet of a yowl as he could muster. Rotstar flinched. “If you did, you would’ve said something! You would’ve noticed! They’re killing us, Rotstar, and we can’t do anything about it!”

“I didn’t do anything about it because I trusted you, Larkstar,” Rotstar replied in a stern yet hushed voice, rising to his paws. He towered over the tom, his blue-grey eyes catching the light of the moon that shone above. Larkstar held his defensive position, not seeming phased by the obvious advantage Rotstar would have against him in any altercation.

“If it were a prey shortage, I wouldn’t have refused the donations you all so kindly tried to offer,” Larkstar snarled, his tail lashing. “I expected you would have taken the hint, but clearly you must not be as clever as everything thinks you are.”

“You would have refused regardless. I know you. I know how you are. You want to take care of everything yourself because you think asking for help makes you weak. You think it makes your whole clan look weak,” Rotstar retorted flatly. “There’s no denying that the entirety of your clan has a physical disadvantage when it comes to any situation that does not involve a need for stealth. That’s not something either you, or I, or any cat has control over. Fieldclan relies on the other clans for protection.”

“And what do you all rely on us for?” Larkstar asked bitterly. “It’s time we became more self reliant. Maybe the old leaders of Fieldclan relied on outside assistance, but I see a future for us where we can fend for ourselves.”

“That future will never come if you all die this season.” 

“That doesn’t answer my question.” Rotstar stared down at him for a moment, then signed and sat down, hanging his head. “Exactly. It wouldn’t matter if the entire clan was erased. We don’t matter to any of you, and it clearly shows.”

“You matter to me-”

“I might, but what about my clanmates? You couldn’t care less about what happens to them.”

“That’s not true, Lark.”

“Then prove it,” Larkstar snarled, his voice cracking. Rotstar was quiet for a moment, but then met his gaze.

“Prove to me you care about them first. Prove to me that you are willing to do what you know is right and be truthful when you see you can’t do this alone. Prove to me that you are exactly as good of a leader as I know you can be,” he answered. Larkstar’s eyes grew wide and he stepped back. 

“How dare you question my loyalty to my clan,” he wheezed in a coarse, astonished whisper.

“You’re the one that told me you would leave it if given the chance,” Rotstar replied.

“That was moons ago. I’m their leader now.”

“Then be a leader. Swallow your self pride and do what is best for them. They are dying, Larkstar. Their deaths could have been avoided.” Larkstar’s furious gaze turned to one of regret and guilt.

“You act as if I don’t know that…”

“No,  **you** are the one acting like you don’t know.” Rotstar crouched down, touching noses with the tom. “Either way, I shouldn’t have to learn of my own mate’s problems from a secondary source, Lark. I don’t ever want you to feel like you have to lie to me.” Larkstar leaned forward and pressed his head against Rotstar’s, but didn’t answer. “All you need to do is ask, and I’ll have every cat possible rushing to your aid.” 

“What about you?” Larkstar asked, pulling away and staring the tom in the eyes.

“What about me?”

“If every other cat is rushing to my aid, then what will you be doing?”

“I’ll be the first one at your side. Always.” Larkstar huddled against Rotstar’s chest, listening to his heart as it beat. Rotstar laid his head over him protectively, purring. “No more secrets, Lark. Please.” The short-legged leader nodded solemnly and opened his mouth to reply, only to be silenced by the cry of a familiar voice. The toms lifted their heads, their ears swivelling toward the source of the sound. 

“No more secrets. I promise,” Larkstar replied. “Be careful, Rot. I’ll see you later.” He nuzzled into the tom one more time, then bounded off toward his own territory. Rotstar watched him leave, his tail flicking nervously as he stood and stretched before streaking off toward the composts. Cats were gathered there, all looking toward the medicine den with warry eyes. They turned toward him as he pressed his way through the crowd, stepping back and parting ways for him. He leaped over the barrier that separated the composts from the boneyard, his eyes catching on the cowering figure of the medicine cat. Skidding to a halt, he turned toward the crowds, flicking his tail sharply to command them all to leave and return to their nightly activities. Hesitantly, they complied, leaving the two cats alone in the dark as the gibbous moon cast its eerie pale light upon the territory. Rotstar padded toward the she-cat, a shiver running down his spine as he caught sight of the Starskull - once simply etched with the marks of claws for each vision received, now bearing a split that ran from the center of the skull down to the nasal cavities. He swallowed hard, knowing this couldn’t possibly be a good sign. Pausing before the large she-cat, his ears flicked backward and he sat.

“Tell me everything, Scavengeheart.”


	8. (!) Part 2: Carrionclan - Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: This chapter does contain some gruesome imagery toward the end that culminates in an implied suicide. Please read at your own risk. For your convenience, if you wish to skip this part of the chapter, it starts after "Rotstar cautiously stepped closer, his eyes widening the more he stared. He recognized the cat as the adult version of a kit he recalled often seeing alongside the past spirit of Nameless, but what he had remembered as a happy, enthusiastic young kitten had grown into a grizzly, bitter tom cat..." and ends before "The world grew dark again."

_ Scavengeheart had been sitting by the Starskull, staring down at the brilliant white of the weathered bone with a solemn gaze. It had been so long since the clan had received any sort of visions or prophecies from Starclan, and part of her wondered if they had forgotten about them. Surely there were other clans in the world far more deserving of their time than the clans of the linear territories, she had reasoned. She had shaken the thought from her mind, noting that if Starclan had truly forgotten them than no recent leader - and especially not Rotstar - could have received their nine lives. She sucked in a deep breath and reached out to the skull hesitantly, expecting yet another night of silence and. Her paw rested lightly on the forehead of the skull. Despite being a massive cat, her paw seemed tiny against the immense forehead of the old cow skull. The bone felt cool and firm beneath her paw, comforting and familiar, then suddenly icy and almost painful to touch. A hiss escaped her and she tried to pull her paw away, but as though her paw was glued to the skull, she couldn’t let it go. Her heart leaped to her throat and her stomach sunk as a thick darkness surrounded her, so black and empty that she could no longer see her paw or the skull which it sat upon. Two amber eyes flickered to life in the dark ahead of her, illuminating the silhouette of a canine at least four times her size and as black as the shadow that surrounded her. It threw back its head and opened its jaws wide, letting out a bellowing howl that shook Scavengeheart to her core as it announced its arrival like some kind of desperate phantom seeking to warn the living of their demise. She recognized the creature from old legend as the first symbol of the clan, a black coydog that was called Carrion - the creature for which the clan was named. The coydog stepped forward, towering over the she-cat, its amber eyes staring down at her. Though its mouth did not move, Scavengeheart heard its voice - surprisingly feminine and soft - ringing through her ears. _

_ “ _ ** _The secret untold_ **

** _A story unfold_ **

** _From down the line_ **

** _Of cats of old_ **

** _Vengeance comes _ **

** _on a scavenger’s wings_ **

** _Division and unity_ **

** _its’ dark intention brings_ **

** _Grace is what _ **

** _the peacekeeper preaches_ **

** _And yet its will _ **

** _the scavenger leeches_ **

** _Behold the ones _ **

** _who see the past_ **

** _Together they come _ **

** _to meet at last_ **

** _Two shall come _ **

** _and none shall leave_ **

** _A wrong long gone _ **

** _death shall reprieve_ ** _ ” _

_ Scavengeheart shuddered at the words. Finally - a prophecy. She had been waiting so long for one, and now… now she wished she hadn’t. She opened her mouth to speak, but the coyote raised a paw to her muzzle, and then placed its paw on her paw. She could feel the weight on her paw, her claws unsheathing and digging into the skull, her middle claw cracking into a weak spot where a bullet had entered the skull. “ _ ** _Hush, healer. Sharpen your senses - it is not safe to speak yet,_ ** _ ” it whispered through her mind. She swallowed hard, her fur bristling. The icy feeling beneath her paw turned back to calming cool and the shadows faded to light. Carrion’s ghost stood for a moment longer, her ears flicking toward the trees above them before she too faded away. Scavengeheart held her breath, her eyes turning to the canopy above. The branches obscured her view, but she could see and hear as limbs above them bent and swayed with the weight of something lithely leaping between them. She stood frozen, searching the trees frantically for any sight of what might have been there, but nearly as soon as she had heard and seen the moving branches, the still quiet of a silent night returned. Ripping her paw from the skull, the claw that was dug into the skull caught the bone and the now weakened structure fractured as she tore her paw downward, creating a narrow split from the center of the forehead down to the nostrils, and she coughed and sputtered as she tried to regain her breath. The prophecy echoed in her mind, repeating over and over like the song of a mockingbird that only ever mocked one tune. Without a second thought, she opened her mouth and yowled “ROTSTAR! ROTSTAR COME QUICKLY!” _

Rotstar had never seen the immense she-cat so shaken, though, if truth were to be told, with what she was saying, he was in nearly as much shock. A streak of paranoia raced through his mind as he considered the implications of both a possible war with Alderclan and this new, strange prophecy. Swallowing his worries, he tensed just enough that his anxiety was well hidden. “Well…” he began, trying to think of the right words to say. “Are you sure it was a prophecy or do you think you just fell asleep and had a weird dream? I thought Starclan gave prophecies out, not ancient coyotes.” Scavengeheart snapped him a stunned yet furious glare and he stepped back, his tail tucking slightly between his legs. “It was worth a shot,” he muttered sheepishly. “Any thoughts on what it could mean?” The medicine cat shook her head, trying to cool her temper.

“I have no clue, if I’m being honest,” she replied. Rotstar repeated the message in his head, tracing over every word and considering as many possibilities. As he continued, he paused, his eyes growing wide.

“Behold the ones who see the past,” he murmured, his ears slowly folding back. Scavengeheart gave him a confused look.

“Does that… mean something to you?” she asked. Rotstar jumped with a hiss as she spoke as if he had forgotten she was there at all, then smoothed out his fur.

“Huh? I didn’t say anything. Did you say something? I didn’t say something,” he stammered. Ordinarily, he was a skilled liar and an accomplished trickster, but when it came to Scavengeheart, his best kithood friend and frankly the cat that scared him most of the whole clan, he always seemed to lose his cool. Scavengeheart twitched her whiskers.

“You definitely said something,” she mentioned, giving him an intense stare. He shied away from her eyes, looking away and rolling a stick anxiously beneath his paw. 

“Nothing of importance. Anyways-” He attempted to shift the focus. “Until we can figure out what it could mean, let’s just… let it go, alright?” Scavengeheart stepped back, her ears pinning against her head. 

“Let it go?  **Let it go?** You can’t possibly be serious. We can’t just ‘let’ a prophecy ‘go,’” she hissed. Rotstar sat tall, curling his tail around himself and feigning confidence as best as he could.

“What’s the use of dwelling on it if we don’t even know who it’s for? Besides, we have far more important things to worry about.”  
“More important things??? What could possibly be more important than-” Scavengeheart caught herself as she raised her voice, realizing that wandering ears of the clan may hear her and begin to worry. She lowered her head and her voice. “What could possibly be more important than a prophecy?” 

“Plenty of things,” Rotstar replied, shifting on his paws subtly.

“Like what?”

“Like a war,” he replied matter-of-factly, his eyes narrowing. Scavengeheart appeared stunned, her fur bristling. 

“A war?” Rotstar sighed and stood, stretching himself out.

“A war,” he repeated, his tail swaying low to the ground. “Or, at the very least, the chance of one. The lives of the majority of cats in these territories take precedence over whichever cats this prophecy is meant for. So. For now, please. Just let it go. We can discuss it more when the clans aren’t in danger.” With that, he leapt over the barrier again and trot off toward his den, leaving Scavengeheart with her thoughts. She watched him go, then glimpsed over to the starskull, her brow furrowing with worry before she padded back into her den and lay down, staring outside in silent contemplation.

Rotstar slipped into his den, instantly collapsing to the ground and hiding his face between his paws as he had always done when overloaded with panic. Thoughts were racing through his head all too fast and he couldn’t keep up with his own mind. Scrubbing at his eyes as though to wipe away tears that weren’t there, he felt a chill through his body. For a moment he stayed silent, but then finally spoke, his voice sounding more like a frightened kitten than a leader of Carrionclan. “Go away… please just… go away.” His ears strained as he fully prepared himself to hear the voice of his phantom friend telling him to stop his worrying, but only silence filled the air. He lifted his head from his paws and looked around. Nameless was nowhere to be seen, yet somehow everything seemed brighter than normal - as if the moon were glowing twice as brightly. A heavy sigh escaped him. He knew what this was, and he was certainly not in the mood. He stepped out of his den and glanced around. All was quiet in camp, perhaps even too quiet. It was a strange sight - all was bright and yet… there was nothing to be seen. He padded out a ways, searching for any signs of the visions of the past that typically came with this odd feeling and appearance. He gazed from side to side, and then glanced down. Ghostly pawprints littered the gleaming dirt beneath his feet. Some seemed oddly deformed, others were missing toes, some were tracks were missing some paws altogether. A small smile crossed his face at the sight of them as he picked out which cats he recalled each track belonged to. Abandoning his worries of the present, he trot onward through the territory, excited to see history unfold before his eyes once again. The more he continued one, however, the more eerie it all seemed. The territory, which had normally been bustling with life as the ancient cats went about their daily activities, seemed to be entirely empty. His smile faded and his fur began to bristle as an unsettling feeling set into his gut. With unsure footing, he padded on until he finally caught sight of someone. He tilted his head, his ears pricking forward. He recognized the shape of the cat he saw - tall and frail with short, curly fur colored white with patches of black. The cat appeared to be in distress, hunched over in silent sobs. Rotstar cautiously stepped closer, his eyes widening the more he stared. He recognized the cat as the adult version of a kit he recalled often seeing alongside the past spirit of Nameless, but what he had remembered as a happy, enthusiastic young kitten had grown into a grizzly, bitter tom cat, bearing scars across his front legs on all sides, his ears tattered and torn to shreds. Rotstar continued forward, stopping just short of the cat and tilting his head to the side. “Poor thing,” he murmured. “What happened to-” Before he could continue, the cat whipped around, its eyes locking with his own. The tom’s eyes bulged from its sharply angled face, bearing fresh scars from his forehead to his cheeks on both. Rotstar jumped back, his fur bristling and back arching at the sight of the hideous creature. The cat opened his mouth in a silent scream, speaking without words and staring straight at Rotstar as though he could see him. He shouted and shouted though no sound came out, until suddenly he snapped his paw to his own neck, extending one claw with a gaze of wild insanity, paranoia, and rage burning in his otherworldly eyes. He dug his claw in, and Rotstar cringed, his paws flinging over his eyes as he subdued the urge to cry out. 

The world grew dark again. Slowly, he lifted his head. Nameless sat where the other cat had sat, her back turned to Rotstar. The leader slowly padded toward her, sitting beside her. He turned to her, but she stared straight ahead. He felt a chill in his tail and he glanced behind him, seeing she had placed her tail over his. He opened his mouth to speak, turning back to her, but she faded away before the words could escape him. Silent, he sat, staring into the distance a moment longer before slowly standing and turning away. He made his way back to his den, curled up, rested his long-furred tail over his nose, and closed his eyes, letting the lullaby of crickets and owls sing him softly to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only three chapters for this part! Sorry it took so long to finally get this part out, I was dealing with some computer trouble. I have no idea when Part 3 will be out - it depends on my motivation level (which admittedly is low at the moment) - but it will be out eventually. I can say with a lot of certainty that it will be a much, much shorter chapter, but the good news is that it'll be a bit more of an exciting one in some ways. 
> 
> As always, thank you so much for reading and feel free to give whatever feedback you feel compelled to give!


	9. IMPORTANT UPDATE (Please Read)

First and foremost, please note the change in archive warnings.  
  
As I continue writing and working on this, I feel the need to address the nature of the coming chapters. Many chapters to come are going to feature some very intense violence and have many mentions of blood and/or gore. If you are a person that cannot handle these things, fear not - I will continue to put a warning before each chapter containing this content (that would be the (!) symbol for skipable violence/blood/gore, and (!!!) for unskipable - continue for more details). However, I due to some chapters containing too much important content that involves this intense violence/blood/gore, I cannot always warn about where a certain possibly triggering scene may start or end. That being said, if you are one of those people, please feel free to personally message me or to comment on that chapter asking for a summary of what happened and I will be glad to give you a trigger-free summation of what happened. I can say with certainty that there are two chapters in the upcoming part that are like this, and at least one chapter in part 4 that will be like this.


	10. Part 3: Fieldclan - Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's finally here! So sorry for the wait, everyone, but there are parts of this part that were pretty intense to write so it took me a little longer. Hopefully you all enjoy it! 
> 
> (Also I know I said this part would be short but uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh I lied lol)

Morning arrived in the usual way. The sun peeked over the horizon, casting an orange glow upon the fog that had settled over the land and coloring the fields with golden light. There was a chill in the air and peaceful silence broken only by the sound by the occasional rustling of branches and falling leaves. The once tall fields of lush grass were turning brittle and brown as they always had in the near-middle of leaf fall, and the sheltering cornfields were left bare from the recent harvest. 

Fieldclan cats stirred amongst the grasses, wakened by the glow of the mist around them. Larkstar was the one exception, still sleeping soundly in the bed of old straw he had made for himself sheltered in the wood piles nearing Carrionclan’s territory. Shafts of crimson sunlight filtered through the gnarled branches, logs, and roots, casting an auburn glare on his fawn colored fur. His whiskers twitched in his sleep as though he subconsciously thought that it would somehow make the light go away. So deep in sleep, he hadn’t heard when a voice called his name from above, and paid little attention to the tickle of feathers across his nose - which, instead of waking him, only caused him to sneeze in his sleep. It wasn’t until he was jolted by a dreadful, hissing screech that he snapped his eyes open, his fur bristling and claws unsheathed. His widened eyes caught sight of the silhouette of a barn owl, sitting in the dark with its head tilted to one side with its jet black eyes staring upon him. Larkstar rubbed the sleep from his eyes after sheathing his claws and licked a paw before running it over his fur to smooth it out. “What in Starclan’s name are you doing waking me at this time of the morning, Holly,” he grumbled, tapping his tail against the ground.

“Rotstar,” the bird replied very simply. “Want to see you.” Speaking the language of cats, though difficult, was at the very least doable for most species of mammals, but for birds, the learning process was far more difficult - especially for birds of prey that make little to no noise at all. Holly was by no means a young barn owl, and still she spoke only in broken feline. It was better than nothing, but all the same Larkstar reminded himself often that next it was time to find another clan symbol, he’d do his best to find something more like a crow or raven. The tom yawned and stretched, flicking his tongue over the muzzle to dry the dew that had rested upon his nose during the night. 

“Of course he does, Holly. He always does,” he muttered. “That’s nothing to wake me about.”

“Oh, so now I’m not important enough for you to wake in the morning?” a familiar voice mewed from outside. Larkstar’s ears pricked and he shot Holly a glare.

“You couldn’t have said he was here  **now** ?” he hissed. Holly shrugged her wings and hopped up onto one of the roots that jutted out from the tangle of old logs. Rotstar invited himself in, slipping effortlessly through a crack in the logs despite it being just large enough for a Fieldclan cat to sneak through.

“Any reason for sleeping in today?” he mewed, purring and rubbing his head affectionately against the tom’s shoulder. Larkstar, despite being bitter from being awoken, purring and gave him an affectionate lick in return.

“It was a long night. You should know,” he murmured. 

“I think I know a bit more than you,” Rotstar replied, sitting and resting his tail over Larkstar’s. The short and stout leader gave him a confused look, but soon recalled.

“That’s right - what did Scavengeheart want?” Rotstar sighed softly.

“She received… a prophecy last night and… I think it might be about me?” Larkstar’s ears folded back.

“How can you be so sure?” Rotstar closed his eyes, recalling the medicine cat’s words and repeated them as best as he could. The Fieldclan leader looked to the ground. “Well… there’s no telling that it’s really you that it’s talking about. Besides - it says the  **ones ** who see the past, not the  **one** . So clearly… there are others, and maybe you’re not included in that group.”

“But who?” Rotstar replied, opening his eyes again. “I don’t know of anyone else in my clan or any of the clans who see the things I see.”

“That doesn’t mean they don’t exist.”

“...Fair point.”

“What I’m more concerned about is this… scavenger business. Scavengeheart is the only cat that even remotely fits that but… it says a scavenger’s wings and she certainly doesn’t have wings.”

“She… does wear talons and feathers, though…”

“But it doesn’t even sound like her! I mean, have you ever known her to have dark intentions? She was your best friend - I’d think you’d know.”

“Maybe I don’t know anything anymore,” Rotstar replied bitterly, baring his teeth. “If we don’t even know who else could possibly see what I see, then how do we know anything about anyone?” Larkstar pressed himself closer to him reassuringly.

“Now isn’t the time to lose our trust in our friends, Rot. Trust in you, trust in the others, and trust in Starclan is all Fieldclan really has left. It’s all  **I ** really have left.”

“But what about this… secret that it talks of? And what about the part where it says death is the only… reprieve? What if I have to die?” Larkstar bristled his fur.

“Rotstar - I need you to stop worrying. Please. Whatever this is, I’m sure it has nothing to do with you and I’m sure it’ll handle itself. What won’t handle itself is Alderclan - that’s for sure. Did she even say who sent this prophecy to begin with? Carcassstar? Blisterstar?” Larkstar asked, grooming himself in an attempt to appear as though he was definitely not moderately concerned by what Rotstar was saying.

“...It was Carrion. Our first symbol.” Larkstar stopped short, inhaling a strand of fur and nearly choking on it. 

“Since when do symbols give prophecies?” he exclaimed, staring up at Rotstar with widened eyes.

“Since now, I guess. That’s part of why I’m so worried. This isn’t something Starclan sent - almost as if it’s something Starclan still wants to hide from us. The only one with any close relation to Carrion that I know of is Nameless. She was the one that encouraged her to aid the budding clan to begin with. I remember seeing it when I was an apprentice. And the only one with any connection or knowledge of Nameless… is me.” Larkstar furrowed his brow, flicking idly at a piece of straw that stuck up.

“And you can’t ask anyone else if they’ve seen her or know of her because you’d be stripped of your rank of leader and forced to become a medicine cat,” he thought out loud. Rotstar nodded.

“Exactly.” The Fieldclan leader was quiet with thought, but as he rolled the information through his mind, he found himself coming to dead ends with everything he knew of Carrionclan’s history.

“Blisterstar was the founder, right?” he asked. 

“Correct.”

“Where was he when Carrion was brought into the clan.”

“...what? What does that have to do with anything?”

“If he was the clan’s founder, don’t you think he would have been the one to bring Carrion in?”

“...Not particularly. We’ve always been told that it was a different member of the clan that brought her in. Who was it that brought your first clan symbol in?” Larkstar paused, staring down at the piece of straw he had been messing with.

“...Fair point. We’ve always been told it was a member of our clan, not Fieldstar specifically.” He thought on it some more. “I’m still not convinced that this prophecy has anything to do with you.”

“I wish I could have that same confidence. I had a strange vision last night-” Before he could continue on, Holly interrupted.

“Larkstar. Winter.” The leader jumped to his paws.

“Foxdung! That’s right!” He turned to Rotstar. “Rot, I love you, but I have an important clan meeting to call for,” he explained. Rotstar nodded, standing and stretching.

“I should get back to Carrionclan anyways. I have patrols to call for and training to initiate. Hopefully Deadtail hasn’t ruined everything since I’ve been here,” he joked, cracking a small smile. “We can talk about this later, I suppose.” He nuzzled into Larkstar, purring softly. “Have a good day, Lark.” Larkstar purred and nuzzled him in return, wrapping his tail around Rotstar’s.

“Of course,” he replied lovingly. As Rotstar placed a paw on a crack between logs, Larkstar reached out and pawed at the wispy fur at the tip of his tail. “One more thing.” Rotstar turned.

“Hm?”

“How’s your ear?” Rotstar blinked, then reached up and pawed at the hole in his ear.

“Can’t even feel the pain now.”

“Well that’s good,” he mewed in return. Rotstar smiled, and began worming his way out. “Wait - one more thing.” The Carrionclan leader sighed, slipping back in.

“Yes?” Larkstar grinned.

“I love you,” he mused. Rotstar chuckled and touched noses with him.

“Love you too, Lark.” Larkstar kneaded at the ground, his heart fluttering in his chest. He never got tired of hearing those words.


	11. Part 3: Fieldclan - Chapter 9

The morning sun had burned off the majority of the fog, leaving the air clear and the land bright. Larkstar shimmied his way out of his sleeping place, tumbling to the ground. His eyes squinted in the light, taking a moment to adjust before finally opening to take in the morning’s view. There wasn’t much to see, though he could hear his warriors taking full advantage of the day by hunting amongst the drying grasses. He looked around, a gentle exhale escaping him. While he appreciated their motivation, there was something mildly disheartening about the fact that the clan was running so smoothly without him, even if it was only for a few hours. He padded down the length of the path that ran alongside various piles of scrap which rested on the opposite side of the hill that pronounced the border between Carrionclan and Fieldclan. There was a pile of wood that Larkstar called his den, another pile of logs which saw many different cats taking shelter within it depending on the weather and time of year, there was a mound of old dead grass - beneath which was a hollowed out burrow that once belonged to various animals - that served as the home to the medicine den, and finally, there was the pile that the Fieldclan cats called Meetingplace. It was a pile of old concrete, though no one was really sure where it was from or why it was there. Being the highest point of the territory as well as being one of the few unchanging locations, it was the perfect place to hold clan gatherings. Larkstar placed his paws on the cool artificial stone, hoisting himself up and climbing to the very top, which was crowned with a long piece of concrete which jutted out over and above the rest. He took a moment to breathe when at the top; Fieldclan cats were built short and stout to accel at stealth among tall grasses and shrubs, but their stunted legs and lengthy backs made even the easiest climb a struggle. 

“May all cats old enough to stalk the fields come to Meetingplace for a clan meeting,” Larkstar called out as loudly as he could. The territory, despite being one of the smallest of the four clans, was large enough that getting a message out across it by oneself was rather difficult, especially since there was no set place considered camp. Holly, who had wriggled her way out of Larkstar’s sleeping place and had perched upon one of the logs for a short nap, opened her black eyes at Larkstar’s voice. She stretched her wings, leaping from the log and soaring effortlessly into the air. Gliding above the territory, she repeated the announcement as best as she could. Cats lifted their heads, some sitting up on their haunches and poking their heads above the top of the tall grass. A few had birds and rodents caught in their jaws, recent kills from the morning’s busy hunt. Those whose mouths were not full repeated the message, making their way toward Meetingplace. The clan’s warriors and their apprentices filtered in to the area beneath the concrete pile, each taking their places. Fincheye, the clan’s deputy, made her way from the rather small crowd up the concrete pile to a piece that jutted up just below the part Larkstar sat upon. She looked up at Larkstar, false hope in her eyes. Larkstar returned her gaze, but looked away. He knew what she was really thinking. He knew she was scared. Truth was, he was too. Still, he took a deep breath and cleared his throat as Holly landed gracefully behind him. “As you all know,” he began, “leaf bare will be upon us soon. I know it’s a bit… late, in the season, but I do believe it is time we consider making our journey to the wintering camp.” One young cat dropped the mouse they held within their jaws, waving their tail. Larkstar turned his attention to them. “Is there something you intend to add, Kestrelstream?” he asked. Fincheye gave him a side glance, but he ignored it.

“If I may - don’t you think it may be a bit… I don’t know… dangerous, at the moment? The wintering camp is awfully close to Alderclan territory.” Larkstar opened his mouth to reply, but Fincheye stood before a word could escape him.

“Your concern is noted, Kestrelstream, but it is not the place of a warrior to speak during a ceremony. You are welcome to voice your concerns after we have concluded,” she explained. Larkstar opened his mouth to respond, but she flicked her tail and he went silent. “But since you have already made your choice to speak, I will say this. Alderclan is already far too close to us as they have been encroaching on the disputed zone for the past many moons. If anything, the wintering camp will be the safest place for us. Prey will be plentiful, as well shelter and cover. Not to mention, Alderclan has yet to make any moves toward that part of our territory. Perhaps, however, you would rather stay here and risk exposing ourselves to Alderclan, as well as freezing and starving ourselves to death?” Kestrelstream glanced away.

“No… no, you’re right. I’m sorry, Fincheye,” they muttered, shrinking back into the crowd. Fincheye nodded.

“Apology accepted, Kestrelstream. I can make some exceptions for young cats such as yourself,” she replied. Her gaze returned to Larkstar. “You may continue.” 

“Thank you, Fincheye,” he responded with an exasperated tone to his voice. “Continuing on… if we are to make this journey, it is time we begin sending out patrols to check on the status of the camp and evaluate if it will be ready for us by the time leaf bare arrives. While we would typically send out patrols of five or six cats, due to our… shortcomings, when it comes to clan members, the most I would feel comfortable with sending at one time is three.” Murmurs drifted through the crowd, quieting with a flick of Fincheye’s tail. “The three warriors who will go first, please step forward once I call for you.” His eyes drifted over the crowd as he contemplated who best to send. He considered sending three of the most experienced, but then again, should something happen, that would mean three of the most experienced warriors would be down. He considered sending three more inexperienced, but they may not know what they are looking for or doing. That left one choice. “Crowthistle, Dovedaisy, and Hawkfern, please come forward.” An excited squeal - accompanied by a disgruntled groan - sounded from the crowd of cats. First hopped out an excited young jet black she-cat who wore a set of three grackle feathers behind her left ear, then padded forward a light lilac colored tom who wore a set of three sparrow feathers behind his left ear, and finally came a dark, dull colored brown marble tabby she-cat who wore a set of three mourning dove feathers behind her ear - each stepping out in the order they were called. “I trust you three will be the best team to lead the first patrol at the moment,” Larkstar announced. “You may leave at once. Clan dismissed.”

The cats began to disperse, returning to their regular jobs of hunting and keeping watch for any Alderclan invaders. Crowthistle, Dovedaisy, and Hawkfern stood together, just about to depart when Fincheye approached them. “Dovedaisy, you have the most experience. I assume you are taking the lead?” she asked, her tail swaying behind her. Dovedaisy nodded.

“Of course, Fincheye,” he replied. Dovedaisy had only been a warrior for about two moons now, but compared to Crowthistle and Hawkfern who had only received their warrior names two nights ago, he was certainly better prepared to take the lead. Fincheye smiled kindly.

“Thank you, Dovedaisy. Be quick, please. We’ll need you to return to help with preparing fresh kill as soon as possible.” As she turned to leave, Hawkfern let out an exhasperated exhale and rolled her eyes. 

“I’m sick of being stuck with tasks like this,” she grumbled.

“Stuck? Whadaya mean stuck? We get to be the first three to see the wintering camp! Well, at least the first three since last leaf bare. But still! This is so exciting,” Crowthistle trilled, her fur bristling with excitement. Hawkfern gave her a flat glance and began padding off in the direction of the camp. 

“I don’t find this to be anything close to exciting,” she muttered, her ear flicking in agitation. 

“Is there something you’d rather be doing?” Dovedaisy asked, trotting up to her side.

“As a matter of fact, there is. I’d far rather be on the front lines, patrolling the disputed zone and sending those Alderclan cats back to the Dark Forest where they belong,” she replied matter-of-factly, a slight growl in her tone.

“That’s no place for a young warrior like yourself,” Dovedaisy mentioned. Hawkfern shoved her ears forward, and then pinned them back, leaping in front of the tom with her teeth bared.

“Maybe you’re content with letting this clan wither away beneath their claws, doing meaningless tasks like patrolling a territory we barely even need or preparing fresh kill for leaf bare, but I’m certainly not,” she snarled. Dovedaisy frowned.

“Your disappointment is duly noted,” he muttered. “But for right now, we have a job to do. Maybe after that you can go to Larkstar with your delusions of grandeur.” Hawkfern’s eyes widened.

“Delusions of grandeur?” she cried, her gaze following Dovedaisy as he sidestepped and passed her. “I’ll have you know I-”

“Was the top of your age group in both stealth, concealment, and hunting. We know, Harkfern,” the tom interrupted. “And I’ll have you know that five of the apprentices your age died by the claws of Alderclan cats - along with their mentors - long before they even had the chance to show their true skill, and that the only reason you didn’t was because Wrenthorn was smart and refused to let you aid them during a battle in the disputed territory.”

“And what happened to Wrenthorn without me?” Hawkfern jeered, puffing out her chest with pride. Dovedaisy shot her a glare.

“She died. Along with the other twelve warriors and apprentices that participated. Should you have been there, you would have died as well.” Hawkfern twitched her ears and looked away. 

“You don’t know that.” 

“Yes, actually, I d-”

“Hey you slowpokes! C’mon!” Crowthistle exclaimed. She had bounded ahead while the two bickered, and waved her tail high to signal for them to hurry up. Hawkfern rolled her eyes.

“I think I’d rather be eaten by dogs,” she drawled. Dovedaisy passed her at a trot, giving her a soft thwack with his tail.

“Give it a rest, Hawkfern. Let’s just get this over with and then you can go back to your regularly scheduled gloating.” 


	12. (!!!)Part 3: Fieldclan - Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING! This chapter contains graphic violence, blood, gore, and a bit of torture. Please read at your own risk. If these things bother you, I would highly recommend that you personally message me so I can give you a trigger-free summary of what went on during this chapter.

The wintering camp was a polar opposite to how the clan lived three seasons out of the year. As opposed to thick, tall grasses and cornfields, it was a small yet dense wooded area filled with brush and trees. Much like the territory of Lumberclan, it was littered with fallen logs, many of which had burrows hollowed out underneath them. These burrows provided much needed shelter for the Fieldclan cats during the bitter cold of winter, and provided plenty of protection against any intruders that may wander through. The brush and shrubs that covered the land between the trees provided excellent cover, and because the area is left unhunted for three seasons, prey is often plentiful. 

Crowthistle was the first to jump into the camp, her eyes wide and a huge grin forming over her face. “Gosh I just love this place, don’t you!” she breathed, her tail swaying from side to side. Dovedaisy slipped in gracefully after her, while Hawkthorn got herself tangled up in thorns before finally tumbling through.

“No, I can’t say I do,” she grumbled, picking thorns out of her fur with her teeth. “It’s too dense… and it means that it’ll be cold and snowy soon. I hate when it’s cold and snowy.”

“Come on, you two. Let’s just get this done and over with,” Dovedaisy muttered. He lead the two deeper in. “Make sure you’re keeping track of all the prey you sense and of any predators or intruders you see signs of.” The trio continued on in silence, each alert for sights or signs of prey or threats. Their first stop was the massive log which housed multiple burrows, a place where warriors typically slept. Dovedaisy slid into each one, checking to make sure they were clean and prepared for inhabitants. Each was lined with a thick layer of dried grasses, feathers, and fur on the sides and ground, which provided such good insulation that Dovedaisy could feel himself overheating just after spending only a few seconds in each one. Continuing on, they checked on the leader’s burrow, the apprentice’s hollow, and the elder’s den, each one looking pristine and ready for living in. As they made their way toward the combined medicine den and the featherkeeper’s winter den, Hawkfern paused, her ears pricking and nostrils flaring.

“Wait,” she cautioned. “Something is off.” Dovedaisy looked to her, his ears swiveling as he too sniffed the air. A frown crossed his face.

“What are you talking about, Hawkfern?” he questioned with an unconvinced tone. Hawkfern’s ears twitched, then pricked again.

“...We’re not alone here,” she explained, her tone suddenly going hush as she lowered into a defensive crouch. Dovedaisy looked around.

“There’s no one here, Hawkfern. It’s just us three.” Crowthistle tilted her head to the side.

“Sis? You ok?” she asked Hawkfern, padding toward her. Hawkfern hushed them both harshly.

“Quiet!” she exclaimed in a whisper. She turned toward Dovedaisy. “How far are we from Alderclan territory?” Dovedaisy gave her a concerned glance.

“Far enough. There’s a section of field that divides us from them, and that’s about…” He thought for a moment. “I’d say at least thirty fox lengths away.” Hawkfern’s ears pinned back.

“Then why is their scent so strong here?” Dovedaisy sniffed the air, his ears slowly pinning back as well.

“I… perhaps the wind is-” He paused, lifting his tail. The wind was blowing in the opposite direction it would have needed to blow in for Alderclan’s scent to waft in as strongly as he could smell it. But there was something else as well… a strange scent that was heavily tinged with the woody musk of Alderclan, yet also strongly smelling of Carrionclan, somewhat of Lumberclan, of Fieldclan, and of something completely different. The scent was strong, and seemed fresh, yet far off… and coming from the opposite direction of the Alderclan scent. A twig snapped in the distance, and all three cats lifted their heads in unison to search for the source of the sound. Hawkfern’s fur bristled. A shadow moved across the forest, seemingly from above them and to their right, but as soon as it had appeared, it vanished. “Let’s… let’s just check the medicine den and report back to Larkstar,” he mentioned at a length. Dovedaisy was the first to make the move forward, slinking low to the ground and keeping himself out of sight, his footfalls silent. When he reached the log the medicine den and featherkeeper’s den lay beneath, he stretched out from his hind legs and placed his front paws as high up on the log as he could to look over it. After glancing from side to side for any sign of movement, he slid himself between the log and the small hole that led beneath it. Looking around, he felt his heart skip a beat. What should have been a mostly stocked den was entirely empty. There was a hole dug in the side of the den, connecting the featherkeeper’s den with it. Where neat piles of feathers belonging to cats long gone should have been, there was nothing but destruction. Feathers were strewn haphazardly across the floor of both the featherkeeper’s den and the medicine den, many of them torn and shredded into unrecognizable pieces.

In Fieldclan, a cat’s feathers were the most important and sacred item. When a kitten is born, the featherkeeper chooses a down feather from a set passed down by cats long gone. The feather is tucked behind the kitten’s left ear, stuck in place by tree sap. When a kitten becomes an apprentice, they are gifted with the second feather of its set - a tail feather. When an apprentice becomes a warrior, they receive a covert feather from the same set. If a warrior chosen to become a deputy, they are expected to go on a special journey to find a bird that matches the feather set they have and to kill it. When this is complete, a secondary flight feather is added to the deputy’s set and a primary flight feather is kept safe for when the deputy becomes leader. Medicine cats are unique, as they have a feather set up until that of a warrior, but also are fitted on one paw with the talons that once belonged to the clan’s first symbol - a great horned owl called Vesper. Featherkeepers on the other hand, while also receiving a feather set, have the saved feathers of Vesper’s wings stuck into their tail. A cat’s feathers are their most prized possession. They serve as identifiers, as symbols of their growth, and as their membership to the clan. If a cat should lose their feathers for any reason, they are automatically considered to no longer be a part of the clan unless they can reclaim their feathers.

The sound of another snapping twig snapped Dovedaisy from the horror of what he saw - the blatant disrespect of whoever had done this had shaken him in a way that very few things did. He scrabbled his way out of the den, but Hawkfern raised a paw to him. She raised her paw to her mouth and shook her head. Dovedaisy, understanding, nodded slowly and crept toward her as silently as he could. Crowthistle lay flat against the ground beneath a thorn bush off to the side, trying to stay as still as possible. Dovedaisy flicked his tail to the left, his left ear flattening to the side. Hawkfern gave a slow nod in return and started creeping step by step off to the left while Dovedaisy did the same off to the right. They made their way to the sides of the log, and a strong scent of Alderclan cats hit them. Another twig snapped, causing both to freeze, pressing themselves close to the ground. A dead quiet filled the air, an almost unnatural sort of silence. Something rustled off to the right, and Dovedaisy snapped his gaze toward it. He fully expected to see an Alderclan cat prowling around, but instead, he caught sight of Crowthistle, slinking across the ground at a trot, headed dead ahead toward the sound of the snapping twig. Dovedaisy wanted so badly to hiss in warning to her, but he knew making any sort of noise could be a deadly mistake. Hawkfern, however, peered around the log toward her sister, and made a sudden, short chirping noise toward her sister - a sound learned by Fieldclan cats as a way to communicate mimicking the sounds of birds. Crowthistle slowed to a halt, her ears pinning back.

“Well, well. Time to check on the old wintering camp, hm?” a voice called from the distance, followed by a low, sinister snicker. Another twig snapped and the sound of footsteps began to come closer. It wasn’t long before the three cats caught sight of the source of the sound and smell. Two Alderclan toms approached, hunched in an aggressive position as they padded closer. Compared to the Fieldclan cats, these toms were giants. Their massive paws hit the ground with heavy steps, their bodies massive and full of rippling muscle hidden by thick, coarse fur. Their legs were long and thick like the trunks of trees, but their tails were half the length they should have been, as was tradition in Alderclan. They paused, each lifting their heads and sniffing at the air to catch a whiff of where the Fieldclan cats hid. Hawkfern bared her teeth, her claws extending. 

“Get out of our territory,” she snarled, stepping out from under the brush she had lay beneath. Dovedaisy’s eyes widened in shock and he leaped out, shooting her a gaze rife with both fear and anger. Still, he recognized that by doing so, he had just given away his position as well, and now the best thing to do was to try to warn the intruders off.

“What,” he hissed. “Is the disputed territory not enough for you and your clan?” He stood as tall as he could and puffed out his chest, but he still looked like a kitten compared to the Alderclan toms who approached and towered over him and Hawkfern. One tom, the one who had spoken whose fur was a slate blue-grey color and whose eyes were piercing green, chuckled softly and swished his half-amputated tail in amusement.

“It’s never enough,” he snarled, his expression turning from comical to sinister. “This isn’t your territory anymore,” he sneered, turning his gaze toward Hawkfern. 

“Since when?” Hawkfern spat, stepping forward, her tail lashing. “Last I checked this territory still primarily had our scent markings, not yours.” 

“Since we’re going to kick your stumpy-legged weasel bodies out of it right now,” the other tom, a massive cream colored cat with hazel eyes, jeered, holding his head high. Hawkfern was about to respond, but Crowthistle came bounding out in front, her fur bristling despite her usual cheery grin still being plastered on her muzzle.

“Was that supposed to be an insult?” she mewed. “Because if it was, it was a pretty dumb one. Hawkfern shot Dovedaisy a concerned glance, but the tom was already on it. He jumped out, trying to grab Crowthistle to pull her back, but she bounded forward, evading his reach and standing directly in front of the two gargantuan toms. “At least we’ve got our tails, unlike you sorry excuses for cats. Not to mention we have style and grace while you dogs have… whatever you call your entire existence,” she purred. The two Alderclan toms looked at each other. Hawkfern studied them carefully, crouching down and digging his claws into the dirt beneath his paws. The toms flicked their tails to either side, each slowly sliding their own long, curved claws out and raising their toes. The she-cat’s eyes widened and her fur bristled, her muscles tensing and ears pinning flat against her head.

“Crowthistle- WATCH OUT!” she cried. Crowthistle had just started to turn toward them when the two Alderclan cats suddenly shot into a sprint in opposite directions, tearing across the ground and dodging branches and thorns at such speed that they appeared as nothing but blurs of color. As Alderclan cats, their speed and agility was nearly unmatched amongst the clans. Even without parts of their tails - or in the case of leaders, without tails entirely - Alderclan cats could navigate even the most unforgiving of terrain at impressive speeds. Their claws, while retractable, could be locked into an unsheathed position, acting nearly as natural cleats by digging into the ground and anchoring the cat to a steady upright position even with sharp turns and quick changes of direction. Dirt and leaf litter flew up around them as they turned inward, rushing Crowthistle from both directions - a common Alderclan hunting and fighting tactic. The young black she-cat’s cheerful expression began to fade, her gaze turning from confident to terrified as she looked to her sister. Hawkfern grit her teeth, taking a mere second to think before lunging into action. She leaped forward, pushing all of her weight into her sister and knocking her out of the way, leaving both herself and Crowthistle tumbling ahead. Hawkfern lifted her head, hoping to see the Alderclan cats collide into each other, but she had forgotten to account for their ability to change direction so swiftly. The two toms now charged them head on, both with jaws agape and ready to ensnare them. Hawkfern hoisted herself to her paws, preparing herself to either fight or make an escape. Before she could make a move, though, a blur of light lilac fur passed low in front of her. Dovedaisy leaped up, claws unsheathed and teeth bared as he seemed to hover over the brambles for a split second. His eyes turned toward the sisters.

“Hide.”

He dove downward back into the brambles below, keeping himself low and sneaking forward as fast as he could until he was just in front of the two toms. Leaping upward once again, he cried out with a wild yowl and thrust his small legs out to either side. His claws dug deep into the shoulders of the warriors and he held on as tightly as he could, trying to force them to collide with one another. The toms barely seemed phased, and instead of colliding they skid to a stop, halting so suddenly that a force of air shoved hard into Dovedaisy’s chest. He felt the breath getting knocked out of him and his claws unhooked from the toms as he was thrown backward, landing squarely in a thorn bush. He let out a yowl of pain as hundreds of thorns dug into his skin, and when he tried to free himself, the thorns only dug in deeper. The blue tom, turned toward him, his green eyes fixing upon him as a grin spread over his face.

In the commotion, Hawkfern and Crowthistle had split up, each diving off somewhere in the brush and lying low, keeping as quiet as possible. The cream colored tom lifted his head, sniffing at the air and searching the ground. He padded forward, stepping carefully over thorny vines and sharp brambles that covered the ground. He paused, then turned, padding toward the right. Hawkfern watched from the left, her breath catching in her lungs. The tom padded directly toward Crowthistle’s hiding place slowly and deliberately, his tongue flicking over his muzzle. The brown tabby she-cat clenched her eyes shut. She hated her sister sometimes. She was annoyingly positive in such a way that it drove her insane, but she sure wasn’t going to let her sister die at the claws of an Alderclan cat. She leaped up and lunged out toward the tom, hoping to throw her weight into him and throw him off his balance. She hit him in the side, but it felt more like she had leaped directly into a brick wall. The tom paused to look at her, a sinister chuckle rising from his throat. “It’s sad, really. You weasels used to be strong cats like us. You share our blood, our lineage. I feel bad for you,” he cooed. “If it wasn’t for your greedy, idiot ancestors, maybe you would still be a worthy opponent to me.” He thrust a paw forward toward her, swiping at her face with his claws, but she dipped her head out of the way just in time. 

“We won our freedom,” she spat, her tail thrashing. “We won our freedom and we will never let you and your clan tell us how we should live ever again. We’re proud of our history. We’re proud of our clan. We’re proud of how we look, how we hunt, how we fight.” The tom let out a laugh.

“You call this fighting? You worms don’t know the meaning of fighting. The best you can do is hide like cowards,” he mused. Hawkfern trembled slightly. How dare he mock her clan? How dare he mock  **her** ? She snarled, abandoning her sense of reason and lunging forward with teeth bared and claws extended. The Alderclan tom stepped to the side, balancing on his hind legs and preparing to come crashing down on the she-cat midleap. Hawkfern tried to throw her weight to one side, but a Fieldclan cat’s body was not built for aerial maneuvers. She tensed, waiting for the crushing blow of the tom’s teeth and claws to tear into her. Instead, the tom suddenly let out a yowl, falling backwards. Hawkfern tumbled to the ground and looked up where she saw Crowthistle with her teeth clamped firmly on the Alderclan warrior’s hock. A sudden shriek drew her attention away and a loud crack echoed through the trees. She turned, a small sound of disgust and horror escaping her as she saw Dovedaisy’s body fall limp between the other tom’s jaws. The tom tossed the lilac cat’s broken body away as though it were nothing but waste, licking his muzzle clean of blood. Before she could react properly, her attention was drawn by the cry of her sister. She turned just as the cream colored tom kicked out hard with his hind leg, sending Crowthistle flying. She hit a tree behind her and Hawkfern could hear a loud snap. Her heart pounded in her chest, her breath becoming erratic and strained. She flung herself at the tom, ready to bite and scratch him until he fell, but she was knocked back as the second tom barreled toward her and knocked her out of the air. She fell hard - so hard that her feathers came loose and unstuck from behind her ear. A rogue breeze drifted through, carrying the feathers away from her reach. Struggling to her paws despite a sharp pain in her legs and her side, she limped toward the feathers, but one of the toms snatched them up in his teeth before she could reach them. He smirked, plucking at them with a claw.

“Looking for these, hm?” he purred. 

“P-please,” Hawkfern sputtered between breaths. “I need them.” She continued forward, staggering along, but the other tom lunged forward, striking her in the side with his paw, his claws digging deep into her. She let out a scream, tumbling to the ground as blood oozed from the holes he had dug into her. She strained, her vision blurring. One of the toms leaned down, picking something up. Her vision waned, then returned. She could see the toms standing in front of her. She could see her sister lying now in front of her. The black she-cat was shaking. She tried to stand, but collapsed - it was clear her ribs were broken. Hawkfern tried to reach out to her, hoping to pull her in and cover her to protect her, but one of the toms raised a paw, bringing it down swiftly upon her spine. There was a shattering sound, and she felt her hind end go suddenly numb. A sob escaped her and she crawled forward. “Leave her alone!” she screamed. The blue tom moved to her side and placed his paw on her shattered spine, pressing down. She cried out in pain, immobilized. The cream tom stood tall over Crowthistle. He extended a single claw.

“This territory belongs to Alderclan,” he hissed. He brought his paw over Crowthistle, turning her on her side to face Hawkfern. The sisters stared in horror at each other.

“E-everything’s gonna be ok,” Crowthistle wheezed, trying to give a small smile. 

“You have no place in your clan. No family. No friends,” the tom cooed to Hawkfern. “Send a message to Larkstar from us. Tell him he has until leaf-bare’s end to forfeit himself and his territory to us, or this one’s fate will fall upon many more of your clanmates,” he hissed in her ear. He placed a claw on Crowthistle’s chest.

“You’re the strongest cat I know, sis,” the black cat whimpered. Hawkfern shook her head, reaching out feebly. The tom dug his claw deep into Crowthistle’s chest and she cried out in pain. Hawkfern tried to look away but the other tom placed a paw on her head, forcing her to watch as the cream tom dug his claw in as deep as he could, slowly ripping downward as blood seeped out from the gash he was creating. Crowthistle yowled, thrashing as her black fur turned red with her own blood. Hawkfern tried to scream, but no sound came from her throat. Crowthistle drew a heavy, labored breath, her blue eyes meeting Hawkfern’s one last time. “It’s ok,” she breathed. “I’m ok.” Her body went still and her eyes grew dim. They were fixed on Hawkfern, but the tabby she-cat knew her sister was no longer looking at her. The tom pinning her down pulled his paws away from her as the cream tom licked the blood from his paws.

“We will be back,” he growled. With a twitch of his tail, he and his clanmate bounded off, streaking toward the forest of Alderclan’s territory, Hawkfern’s feathers still clenched tightly between his jaws.


	13. (!!!)Part 3: Fieldclan - Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING! This chapter contains mentions of blood, trauma, and ptsd (visions). Please read at your own risk. If these things bother you, please personal message me for a trigger free summary of what went on during this chapter.

Holly’s sensitive ears had picked up on a commotion from the wintering camp as she tried to catch some rest while perched on an old fence post. Roused from her sleep, she drifted into the air, feathers fluttering as she soared toward the densely forested area. She dodged branches as she flew through, tilting and swiveling her head to locate exactly where the commotion was coming from. By the time she arrived above it all, however, it was far too late. Dovedaisy and Crowthistle lay dead, and Hawkfern lay over her sister’s body, having managed to drag herself there. The barn owl circled them once, then turned back toward the rest of the territory.

Larkstar was carefully stalking a cardinal when Holly arrived. She landed beside him, her head twisting toward the wintering camp. She took a moment to think of the words. “Dead,” was what she could manage. “Attacked.” Larkstar lifted his head, his sudden movement causing the cardinal to swiftly fly away with a loud alarm call. 

“What do you mean?” he asked, trying to swallow his fear for what he knew she meant.

“Go. See,” she answered. Larkstar shuddered.

“Let Fincheye and Wrentail know. Tell them to meet me there.” Holly nodded, flapping her wings and taking to the sky to search for the deputy and medicine cat. The tom raced toward the wintering camp as fast as his tiny legs could take him, dodging past cats who lifted their heads and watched fearfully as he sped past. Past the cleared corn field that sat just slightly ahead of the wintering camp, he caught sight of a figure dragging itself across the ground. His heart lurched in his chest and he pushed himself onward, trying to be quicker. As the figure came into full view, his ears pinned back against his head. Limping across the ground was Hawkfern, dragging the entirety of the back half of her body on the ground behind her. Clenched between her teeth were two sets of feathers, and much like her own fur, they dripped slowly yet steadily with blood. Larkstar’s stomach tied in knots, his tongue going numb as he went speechless. The she-cat struggled forward, collapsing at his paws in a fit of sobs. Fincheye and Wrentail, the clan’s medicine cat, came racing in, halting at Larkstar’s side, each with wide eyes. Wrentail, however, was the first to make a move. He had become rather accustomed to the horrors of mangled cats torn to pieces by Alderclan warriors, to a point that it barely bothered him anymore. Approaching Hawkeye, he sniffed at her gently, prodding her softly, but soon stepped back. He turned to Larkstar.

“Much of the blood on her… isn’t her own,” he explained, trying to keep his calm. 

“Then whose is it? And why is she… like that?” Fincheye asked, stepping forward. Wrentail turned to her.

“She’s been paralyzed,” Wrentail replied matter-of-factly. “And as for whose blood… it’s not from an Alderclan cat. It’s one of our own.” He knelt down close to Hawkfern. “Can you tell us what happened?” he inquired softly. “Where are Crowthistle and Dovedaisy?”

Hawkfern’s eyes drifted back toward the forest, the feathers of her sister and clanmate drifting to the ground at Wrentail’s feet as she slowly released them from between her teeth. She opened her mouth to speak, but in her mind flashed a vision of her sister being slowly ripped open before her eyes. Her pupils thinned and she looked at herself, digging her paws at the blood in her fur frantically. She wanted to scream or cry or both, but no sound could escape her as she collapsed and grit her teeth, her claws digging deep into the dirt beneath her. Wrentail turned toward Fincheye. “Search the camp,” he demanded. Fincheye nodded curtly and dashed into the brush of the forest. Larkstar approached slowly, shakily, trying to find the right words. “She needs medical attention, but she’ll survive, I think,” Wrentail mewed to him, sensing his fears and attempting to put him at ease. Larkstar let out a heavy exhale in relief. “But she-” Wrentail paused. His eyes flicked over Hawkfern, staring intensely toward her ears. “Hawkfern? Hawkfern can you answer me?” he asked, his tone becoming somewhat frantic. The she-cat trembled and tried to turn her gaze to him, but her eyes clearly stared passed him rather than at him. The medicine cat pressed his paws against her, shaking her firmly which caused her to yowl in pain from her broken bones. Instinctively, he dug his claws into her in frustration, only earning more cries of suffering. Larkstar leaped forward, shoving Wrentail away and hissing at him.

“What in Starclan’s name has gotten into you?” he shouted, his fur bristling. “Leave her be! She’s clearly not ready to talk yet.” Wrentail thrashed his tail.

“Her  **feathers** , Larkstar! Where are her feathers? He yowled, pointing a paw in Hawkfern’s direction. Larkstar jumped, his ears pricking and fur standing on end as he turned back toward Hawkfern. Sure enough, the she-cat’s head was bare. There was no sign of her feathers, and neither of the sets she held were hers. Wrentail turned back toward the warrior, his tail thrashing. “Where are they, Hawkfern?” Hawkfern stared into the distance.

“Dead… all dead… I couldn’t… I… I tried I…” 

“Not your clanmates, mousebrain! Your feathers! Where are your feathers?!” Wrentail shrieked, his heart pounding. Larkstar tensed. He had never seen the medicine cat so clearly disturbed - but it was well warranted. Any cat would break after the sheer amount of death and loss he had seen just within the last few moons. Hawkfern shakily lifted a paw to her head, prodding lightly at her ears.

“Th-..they…” A vision of the cream colored tom holding them firmly in his mouth flashed in her eyes. “Taken… he took them…”

“Who took them?” Larkstar asked softly, stepping to Wrentail’s side and resting his tail over the medicine cat’s back gently.

“He… I… didn’t r-r-reckogn...ize h-him….” She paused, dreadful mirages of her sister’s death replaying before her eyes. “He killed her,” she said, her voice suddenly low. “He kill… he… he..” She was interrupted as Fincheye came walking out of the forest, her paws shaking with every step. 

“Dovedaisy is dead. Crowthistle is…” she hesitated. “She…” She looked to Hawkfern, noting how the blood that covered her corresponded to the pool left by the black she-cat’s split open body. “She’s… dead,” she finished, unable to find a better word for what she could only imagine must have happened. She padded to Hawkfern, placing a paw gently upon her. Hawkfern flinched and winced, her shaking intensifying. “I’m so sorry,” she mewed softly. “But at least we still have you.”

“I wouldn’t be too sure,” Wrentail mentioned. Fincheye looked up to him.

“Even if she doesn’t heal, she could help you in the medicine den or perhaps help Jayfoot, right?” she inquired.

“Her feathers were taken.” The she-cat was taken aback. She looked over the warrior, noting that in fact her feather set was definitely missing.

“No…” she whispered, her voice hushed. Larkstar stepped forward.

“Come on - we can overlook that, can’t we? Hasn’t she been through enough?” he pleaded. Fincheye turned toward Wrentail, then sighed heavily.

“I… we can’t do that, Larkstar,” she muttered. Larkstar’s ears pinned back and his tail twitched.

“What? Why not?”

“You know the rules.”

“There has to be exceptions.” Wrentail shook his head.

“No exceptions,” he replied. Larkstar’s claws instinctively unsheathed.

“We can’t afford to lose her. She’s right here - she’s Hawkfern. We all know her. We can’t just abandon her like this. Not now. We don’t have the luxury of abandoning clanmates like this,” he claimed, his tail swaying from side to side as his fur began bristling more than it already was.

“We don’t have the luxury of abandoning our laws either,” Fincheye explained. “At this point, they’re all we have left.”

“Our laws are nothing! Our  **clanmates ** are all we have left!” Larkstar pleaded.

“Fincheye is right, Larkstar. Our laws, our traditions - they make us who we are. They give the clan identity and purpose. If we lose them, then we lose our clan.”

“And if we lose more cats like Hawkfern we lose our clan either way,” the leader growled. Fincheye bristled her fur.

“Larkstar, I respect you. You know that. But if you keep trying to call for these exception to the rules, I would be forced to ask for your resignation. This clan needs a leader with stability, and if you can’t provide it then I would certainly be happy to,” she replied. “Don’t make me fight you on this.” Larkstar’s heart froze. He couldn’t just give up his position. Not now. Especially not now. He swallowed hard, his claws resheathing as he knelt next to Hawkfern.

“I’m so sorry,” he said, his voice cracking slightly. “I… I have to ask you to leave…” Hawkfern looked toward him, but was certainly not looking at him. Larkstar pressed his nose against her comfortingly. “Head toward Lumberclan if you can. I’ll ask if Green can assist you. They’ll shelter you there until we can get your feathers back.” Hawkfern nodded slowly, struggling to lift herself up on her front paws. She looked toward Fincheye and Wrentail who each gave her a solemn gaze before turning away. “Be careful,” Larkstar mentioned gently. “You’ll always be part of our clan, even if you can’t be with us right now.” Hawkfern nodded slowly but winced, pain shooting through her. Her front legs ached, her chest throbbing with the sharp pain from her broken ribs, but she struggled forward, dragging herself along toward Lumberclan. Larkstar padded alongside her for a moment. “I’ll come and visit you to check on you,” he offered. Hawkfern didn’t reply, simply continuing to drag herself onward. The leader’s tail drooped, his fur falling flat. “We’ll find your feathers,” he whispered. “I promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it for part three! I hope you all enjoyed it! I know it was a little intense at some points - but I should mention that there will be many more chapters to come that will be just as if not more intense, and that does include chapters in the upcoming part. I easily foresee this next part taking just as long if not longer to complete than this one, so please just be patient and bear with me as I work on it. Thank you so much for reading, thank you for all of the support, and as always, feedback is welcome and appreciated!
> 
> Oh! One more thing - cover art is in the works, so I hope to have that up in the next few weeks or so!


	14. Part 4: Alderclan - Chapter 12

Three tattered, ash-grey feathers fluttered slowly to the ground, landing softly upon a pile of old tail bones, some still stinking with rotting flesh and fur. A rogue breeze passed through the open spaces between tall trees, rustling a thicket of dense brambles and bringing a few yellow leaves drifting to the ground. The feathers waved, threatening to float away, but stuck soundly to the sticky decaying muscle of a severed cat’s tail. Large paws of blue and cream padded away from the pile, leaving them to be forgotten. 

The open forest of Alderclan territory was once a serene, delicate landscape with no sounds but the rustling of branches and leaves, the creaking of trees as they swayed in the wind, the chirping of birds, scrabbling of squirrel claws, and the soft hoofsteps of deer. Now, a cacophony of shouting and yowling dominated the air as cats trained themselves and each other into exhaustion. As the two toms padded on, a team of four cats came racing past them, weaving in and out of the trees as they tested their speed and agility. A trio of she-cats stalked somewhere beyond, patrolling around the territory. They lifted their heads as they passed the toms, the leading she-cat pausing and the other two following suit at either side of her. “Fleetbreeze. Sprintwind. Good to see you both returned in a timely fashion.” The blue tom, Fleetbreeze, paused and turned to her.

“Thanks, Bristletoe. How goes your patrol?” he mewed in reply.

“As uneventful as ever, thankfully,” the she-cat answered.

“Any idea of where Rushstar may be at the moment?” the other tom, Sprintwind, asked suddenly. “We were told to report back to her as soon as we had returned.”

“You may want to consider tidying up a bit before even considering meeting with her,” Bristletoe pointed out. “Your pelts are a mess.” The two toms looked at each other, then nodded.

“Of course,” they replied in unison, noting the crusty red stains that covered their fur. 

“In that case, I would imagine you could find her in her den. If not, then it’s probably best you find something to occupy yourselves with until she returns there. I think a central patrol is still due to be completed for the hour,” she concluded. The she-cat turned to the others in her group. “Come along, you two. We still have hunting duty to attend to before the hour is over.” With that, the three padded onward, Bristletoe keeping her gaze on the two toms for a moment before returning her attention to the path marked ahead. 

Fleetbreeze and Sprintwind padded through the forest until they reached the wire fence that marked the southern edge of the territory and led to the pastures of cattle. Trotting beyond the grazing bovines, they ducked under another fence, passing into a surprisingly verdant field where a horse could occasionally be found by himself watching as people and vehicles passed on the dirt road that divided the main pastures from the barns. Running through the field was a small stream which led to a large open pond with the clearest water found for miles. Tiny minnows swam in schools against the current, blending in with freshwater plants which swayed gently downward. Just above the pasture was the border of Fieldclan, where the barn owl Holly could be seen perched upon the fence wire, hunched over and staring down toward the water where the two toms now stood. Fleetbreeze lifted his head, his half-length tail swaying from side to side as he sniffed in her direction. He glared, his lips drawing back into a snarl in an attempt to threaten her, but she stayed uncomfortably still, her black eyes gazing down on them, unblinking. Sprintwind lifted his head as well, but nudged Fleetbreeze in the flank with a paw. “Come on. She’s nothing to worry about,” the tom announced, raising his voice as though he wanted the owl to hear. His eyes flicked toward her, but she stayed unmoving. Deadpanning, he shook his head and leaped into the stream, splashing water on himself and vigorously grooming himself until his fur was free of any traces of blood. Fleetbreeze did the same, hissing at first from the sensation of freezing cold water soaking to his skin.

“So what do you think all that was about anyways?” the blue furred tom asked once he could unclench his jaws from the sudden chill. Sprintwind, who had slunk out of the water and was now drying himself one long lick after another, paused and looked to him.

“Does it really matter? We did our job and did it well.”

“Well yeah, but… that’s not exactly our style. Torture, I mean.” Once he was clean and no longer stained with red, he climbed out and sat next to his friend, instinctively puffing himself out and arching his back toward the sun. “Not like that, anyways.” 

“It may be new to us now, but I’m sure our kin before us practiced it often.”

“Seems like overkill to me. It’s a lot of time and effort for a problem that could be fixed just by, say, rushing in as a clan and slaughtering as many as will resist us. It’s not like they could really defend themselves against us anymore.” Sprintwind shook himself out, tiny droplets like mist flying from his fur. 

“Seems to me like you’re just begging to be put on trial for dissent.”

“Dissent? Of course not! I’d never,” Fleetbreeze remarked with shock that the cream colored tom would even suggest such a thing. “It just seems odd, that’s all.”

“Who are we to say what’s odd or not?” Sprintwind replied, giving himself one last look to ensure his fur was free of blood. Fleetbreeze opened his mouth to say something, but decided against making any further comments. Sprintwind was right, after all - these days something so small as a simple question could cost a cat their life in Alderclan.

After a moment of peaceful silence which the two toms gladly relished in, knowing there would be the chaos of training and the scrabbling of claws wildly kicking up dirt in pursuit of ever-important prey as soon as they returned to the forest, they turned in unison toward their clan’s territory. Fleetbreeze glanced over his shoulder as they began to pad back, his eyes catching sight of Holly just as she raised her wings and leaped into the sky.


	15. Part 4: Alderclan - Chapter 13

As the sun continued its journey through the sky, the air warmed and the cold of the autumn morning subsided. Despite this warmth, however, the air around Swiftgaze felt chilled. Her muscles felt like ice and deep within her chest her heart ached as though it was frozen. In a literal sense, she was perfectly fine, of course, but as she watched Rushstar emerge from her den, it was as though all of winter had set itself around her. Once upon a time which felt so long ago, this she-cat who she had loved ever since the two had first met made her feel as though it was always a pleasant spring day - warm and full of live, full of joy, full of color. The alder trees that filled the woods were smattered with bright, sunny yellow leaves falling softly to the ground with each passing breeze, and once upon a time Swiftgaze would’ve looked upon them with wonder. Yet now, as she watched her leader stretch with a hiss as a day old wound on her shoulder ripped back open, there was no color or wonder here.

“You still never told me what happened,” she managed to mutter, her violet hued eyes turning toward the ground. 

“It was thorns, Swiftgaze. How many times do I have to tell you,” Rushstar replied with a snarl, refusing to turn her eyes to her deputy.

“Thorns don’t make those sorts of wounds, Rushstar,” Swiftgaze pointed out, her voice becoming stern. “Who hurt you. When. How. Where. And why do you keep lying to me.” Rushstar stood tall, the nub that once was her tail flicking in agitation.

“Are you calling me a liar,” she mentioned, more in a flat, matter-of-fact comment than a question. Swiftgaze took a deep breath, then looked up to Rushstar.

“Maybe I am,” she answered after a moment, choosing her words carefully. Rushstar turned to her, her brown ticked red fur catching a rogue beam of sunlight and gleaming crimson like hellfire. Her yellow eyes may have once matched the gentle autumn colors of the alders, but now they burned fierce like embers, her pupils almost constantly no more than thin slits to match her consistently sour mood.

“How dare you,” she hissed, stepping toward her deputy, her fur bristling and claws digging deep into the dirt. “How dare you even suggest for a  **second ** that I would lie to my own deputy.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time,” Swiftgaze answered, lifting her head high. She swallowed her fear, her mind racing as she reminded herself that if she wouldn’t stand up and demand answers, no one would. With a dreadful growl, Rushstar lunged forward, gripping at Swiftgaze’s face with her claws. The deputy yowled and recoiled, cowering beneath the force of the leader’s grip. 

“You best choose your next words carefully, squirrelbrain, or I’ll shred you into so many pieces that no one will know how to bury you,” she snarled, teeth bared and practically touching against Swiftgaze’s muzzle. Swiftgaze stayed frozen, her eyes wide with fear. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words could escape her. Rushstar stared her down, digging her claws deeper into the fawn she-cat’s cheek before shoving her to the side and tearing her claws away. Swiftgaze cried out as she hit the ground, lifting a paw to where Rushstar had dug her claws in and staring up at her leader with fear.

“I… I’m sorry,” she whimpered. “I shouldn’t have said anything.” Rushstar looked down on her with fury in her gaze.

“I’ve killed clanmates for considerably less, Swiftgaze,” she hissed. Before Swiftgaze could respond, however, Fleetbreeze and Sprintwind came walking toward them, both still with damp fur that clumped together in what looked almost like scales. The deputy lifted her head, and shame gripped at her heart. Without a single word, she stood and bolted off into the forest. Rushstar watched her go, then turned to the two toms. “Well?” she inquired, licking the drops of Swiftgaze’s blood from her claws. “How did it go?”

“Exactly as you asked,” Sprintwind replied curtly. Fleetbreeze nodded.

“Two killed, one left injured - and we brought her feathers back,” he added. Rushstar nodded.

“Excellent. Wonderful job, both of you. Your reward is to take the next few hours off - feel free to do whatever it is you please.”

“Thank you, Rushstar,” Sprintwind replied, lowering his head. “I should assume that this will be sure to gain the proper attention of Larkstar enough that he may be willing to surrender territory to us, correct?” Rushstar turned to him.

“It may, that is true,” she replied vaguely. “Or it may not - either way, I’m sure it will affect him greatly.” Her gaze drifted off to the horizon, a distant and blank look on her face. “Is that all, then?”

Fleetbreeze hesitated, looking to Sprintwind who returned his attention with a dismissing flick of his ear. Raising his head slightly, Fleetbreeze turned back toward Rushstar. “I believe so, Rushstar,” he answered courteously. Rushstar dismissively flicked the nub that once had been a long, flowing tail, and turned away.

“Good. You are dismissed.” Without another word, the two toms turned and trot off back toward camp.

Rushstar grimaced, instinctively nipping at the wound on her shoulder as soon as the toms had left. Blood slowly began to trickle down her shoulder, seeping as the wound opened more and soaking into her fur. Reluctantly she turned, sulking as she stalked toward camp, taking the long way around so as to avoid wandering eyes and doing her best to stay out of sight of her training warriors. Picking her way through the brambles that surrounded the camp, she pulled herself into the thicket that housed the medicine den. 

The inside was extremely plain, with small piles of herbs and basic supplies scattered around the edges and a small pit covered with leaves and stones holding a pool of water in the center. A single blue eye caught a shaft of light that filtered through the vines, gleaming almost menacingly in the otherwise darkened hollow. Into the light stepped a grizzly looking cat whose face appeared split in half by black and orange and whose body was covered in a muddy, mottled mess of more black and orange. On the orange side of their face their eye was the bright blue which had caught the light, but on the black side the eye was white and glazed over, entirely blind. Their fur seemed frazzled and unkempt, and her bobbed tail - about the length of a bobcat’s tail - seemed to be crooked toward its end with a bit of raw bone peaking through from a botched severing. 

“More thorns?” the cat mewed, picking through a pile of herbs while grumbling to themself. Rushstar didn’t respond and simply rested low to the ground, rolling slightly so the wound on her shoulder was visible in the low light. The split faced cat plucked a few herbs from the pile, chewing them into a smooth paste and spitting it out onto the wound. Rushstar lept up with a hiss, baring her teeth and glaring at the poultice that burned as it began its work to stop the bleeding and prevent infection. The medicine cat shook their head, taking some burrs from a thatch of moss where they clung and placing them over the wound to ensure the poultice would stay in place and the wound would close properly. After a moment of grimacing from the pain of healing, Rushstar stood and stretched, shaking out her thick ticked red fur.

“Thank you, Shatteredeye,” she grumbled, turning toward the den’s entrance.

“Of course, Rushstar,” Shatteredeye responded with a curt nod, though suspicion was clear in their one good eye. “Though I wonder when you will finally tell me the truth of what has been happening to you,” they called just as Rushstar was beginning to leave. The leader paused, her lips curling back as she slowly turned back.

“Are you calling me a liar too, Shatteredeye?” she hissed, her ears flattening back. Shatteredeye stared at her unphased. Being the clan’s medicine cat through four leaders, Shatteredeye had learned to be unafraid and stand their ground despite the pain it often caused them.

“Who have you been fighting with, Rushstar,” they asked, ignoring her question. “You forget - I know the differences between thorn cuts and claw marks.” Rushstar lunged toward them, claws unsheathing, but they stood perfectly still and stared at her with an unimpressed gaze.

“Whether I am fighting or being cut by thorns is none of your business.”

“As you medicine cat, it is exactly my business.” They paused. “Is it Swiftgaze?” Rushstar gave no answer and instead bristled her fur, gritting her teeth. “Is it?”

“No. It’s not Swiftgaze,” Rushstar snarled.

“I know you two have been at odds of late,” Shatteredeye explained, moving to the side. Rushstar raised a paw to strike them, leaning toward them and looking down on them.

“My wounds may be your business, but my relationships are not,” she hissed. Shatteredeye nodded, still unconcerned with how Rushstar was treating them.

“Of course, Rushstar. My sincerest apologies,” they mewed, stepping back and turning away. “I imagine you have more important things to do.” They began sifting through and sorting their herbs idly. “Perhaps you should get to it,” they mentioned, giving her a side-eye. The leader’s ear twitched. Shatteredeye’s nonchalant manor and response irked her. She was so used to her clan members cowering beneath her or groveling at her paws that to be treated any other way was unnerving and almost disquieting. Gritting her teeth, she spat in Shatteredeye’s direction and gave them one final glare.

“Perhaps  **you ** should get back to  **your ** work, Shatteredeye,” she snapped, turning and skulking as she padded out of the den.

“Of course, Rushstar,” Shatteredeye mewed behind her. They watched her pad away for a moment longer, chuckled softly to themself and shook their head as they returned to sorting their herbs.


	16. Part 4: Alderclan(!) - Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slight trigger warning for brief section of torture. This starts at "source of the noise" and ends at "One of the other apprentices passed in front of him." As always, if you would like a short summary of what happened between that time, please feel free to let me know!

“Again.” The word rang in the young apprentice’s ears like the scraping of claws on smooth stone. He panted heavily, after having just ran the inner perimeter of the territory for the third time in the past two hours. His muscles ached and the joints in his paws throbbed after his claws had been locked into an unsheathed and downward slanted position. His cinnamon and white fur was dusty and tangled with sticks and dead leaves. He looked to his mentor, the massive black tom called Strikeclaw. The warrior looked down at him, his stark yellow eyes fixed in a dreadful scowl upon him. “I said  **again** , Lopepaw,” he scolded. Lopepaw cowered, every fiber of his being begging him to speak up and say that he couldn’t do it anymore. He knew the consequences, though. There was no such thing as saying no. He sucked in a deep breath, the muscles in his chest stinging and nearly causing him to choke, but still he pushed forward, pressing himself into a staggered, hobbling canter before mustering every bit of strength he had to break into a sprint.

As an apprentice, he had the luxury of still having his full tail, unlike all of the higher classes of cat in the clan. As he weaved between trees and followed the marked running path, his long, thickly furred tail countered his movement and kept him balanced as his claws dug into the ground with every pace to keep his momentum and stability. Adrenaline coursed through his veins once again and the paint in his body melted away as he willed himself onward, launching himself over fallen logs and veering around patches of brambles. He passed a group of warriors, hissing and yowling as they tore each other nearly to pieces in the name of training. He passed another group standing in a ring, a live but badly injured rabbit panicking as it was chased alternately by each warrior standing around it - a traditional hunting and training game in which there is success and loss, success being that they prey in the center of the ring will die of exhaustion, loss being that one of the warriors will become exhausted first thus allowing the prey to escape. He passed two other apprentices, both running the same path as him on the orders of their mentors. Neither acknowledged him or each other as they ran, each solely focussed on the task at hand.

Nearing the western edge of the territory, Lopepaw continued his trek, but this time… his ears twitched at the sound of voices. Shouting, arguing, hissing, yowling - those were all common sounds to hear and nothing to raise alarm. Still, Lopepaw couldn’t seem to ignore it. His gait slowed and he faltered as he nearly tripped over a fallen branch in his distraction. Regaining his balance, he forced the joints in his toes to unlock to allow his claws to retract as he padded toward the source of the noise. 

“Please j-just… let me go.... I didn’t mean you any harm…. I swear…”

“Then why so close to our territory, huh?”

“I-I didn’t know! I never meant t-”

“Ha! Likely story, twig. What are ya, noseblind?”

“Y-yes, actually… I lost my s-s-sense of smell when I-”

“That was a rhetorical question, dirtbrain.” 

Lopepaw padded closer, ignoring the pain in his muscles as it returned. He peered behind a tree, staring out toward the western border. A patrol of four warriors crowded around an old tom that looked far more dead than alive. He squinted, taking a step forward.  ** _What are they doing? He’s… he’s not even in our territory… _ ** Just as soon as he had thought it, one of the warriors, the chocolate and white tom he knew as Staggerstorm, lunged forward, clamping his jaws around the bony back of the old tom, picking him up and throwing him down into clan territory. His brother, the chocolate tom known as Quickear - aptly named for the ear he lost during his apprenticehood training - padded toward the scrawny outsider, standing over him and baring his teeth directly above his muzzle.

“How  **dare ** you trespass in our territory,” he jeered, spitting in the tom’s face. The outside began to shiver, holding his paws feebly over his face as if somehow they could protect him. 

“I-I didn’t… I… I wasn’t-”

“Well you are now, aren’t you?” one of the other warriors, the dark grey tom called Lurchslate, mused, chuckling with sinister amusement as he raised a paw and struck the loner across the face. The tom cried out, cringing and rubbing a paw over where he had been hit. 

“Th-that wasn’t my f-fault! Y-you dragged me in here!”

“First you trespass and  **then ** you have the  **audacity ** to talk to an esteemed warrior of Alderclan as though he is a liar?” Staggerstorm snarled, pouncing over to him and placing one of his paws against his chest. Against the emaciated chest of the loner, Staggerstorm’s paw looked as though it could crush him without much effort. “You best think your next words carefully, twig” The loner squirmed feebly beneath him, wheezing and sputtering, his weak heart pounding harder than perhaps it ever had. Between ragged breaths, he tried to speak on behalf of himself.

“I… I-”

“Shut up, maggot,” spat the last tom of the four, a chocolate marbled tabby known as Pounceperch. He leaped over, placing his paw over the loner’s muzzle. The loner tried to scream, but the sound was muffled. What little air he could breathe in wasn’t enough and he felt himself growing weaker. Quickear padded over, picking up the loner’s bony tail between his teeth.

“What were you doing so close to our territory, hmm?” Lurchslate purred, running the back of his claw over the loner’s neck. The emaciated old tom attempted to reply, but with Pounceperch’s paw over his muzzle no comprehensible words could come out. “No reply?” he mewed, an amused gleam in his blue-grey eyes. Quickear dropped the tail from his mouth, grinning and holding it in his paw instead.

“Clearly this poor worm was trying to join us,” he suggested, his half-length tail lashing behind him. Staggerstorm’s amber eyes seemed to light up with an idea to prolong the poor loner’s suffering. 

“Good thinking, Quickear,” he replied, pressing his paw harder on the ribcage beneath him. “Well, twig, if that’s the case, you should know - all warriors must have half their tail severed. It’s clan tradition,” he explained matter-of-factly. “It’s how we separate ourselves from the low-lifes that call themselves Lumberclaners. They rely on their tails for balance, we choose to prove that we don’t need to rely on an extra anatomical advantage to succeed.” The loner’s vision began to cloud, and Staggerstorm gave Pounceperch a glance. Pounceperch lifted his paw for a moment so the loner could take a breath, but then pressed his paw back on his muzzle immediately afterward. “So, twig, if you wanna be one of us,” Staggerstorm glanced back to the old tom’s tail. “Part of that’s gonna have to go.” The loner gave a muffled whine and weakly lifted his paws, grasping at Staggerstorm’s leg. Quickear took his tail between his teeth again. “Ready?” The loner shook his head violently, but Pounceperch pressed his paw down harder, forcing him to nod instead.

Lopepaw watched in silence, his chocolate brown eyes widening and pupils dilating with fear. His fur stood on end and he instinctively turned his head as the cracking of bone and tearing of flesh echoed in his mind, the muffled screams of the loner seeming to pass through him and churn his stomach. He grit his teeth, his claws unsheathing and locking into place once again. One of the other apprentices passed in front of him, her eyes locked on the path ahead as though the torture just beyond wasn’t even happening. The young tom stared ahead, feeling himself go numb as his thoughts melted away. He wanted to scream. He wanted to cry. He wanted to say something. He wanted to do something. Yet against his own desires, he felt himself turn as though he was no longer in control of his own body. He padded along the path, his head jerking away from the scene as his walk turned to a jog, his jog to a run, and his run to a sprint, unable to pay any mind to the screams behind him as the elderly loner was dragged by his torn tail through the dirt and leaves of the Alderclan forest.


	17. Part 4: Alderclan - Chapter 15

Strikeclaw’s massive form loomed in the midst of the trees, head tilted to the sky, his yellow eyes reflecting the sun as it lowered in the west. The warrior paid Lopepaw no attention as he approached from the east. Skidding to a stop, the apprentice took a moment to catch his breath and his bearings. His mind still swam with what he had seen.  ** _I shouldn’t care. I shouldn’t be affected. This happens daily. Why do I care? _ **

“That was even slower than your last run,” Strikeclaw snarled scathingly.

** _That’s going to be me someday. I’m going to have to be like them. _ **

“Do you not even have enough respect to answer me?” Strikeclaw hissed, turning to his apprentice and unsheathing his claws.

“I don’t want to be like them,” Lopepaw thought out loud. Strikeclaw narrowed his eyes.

“Like whom?” Lopepaw jumped, his fur standing on end.

“Like the… the lowlifes in the other clans!” he blurted out, eyes wide in panic. Strikeclaw looked him over, narrowing his eyes further.

“Then perhaps cut your time in half rather than tripling it,” he grunted, turning back toward the sun. He opened his mouth. Lopepaw raised a paw, exhaling sharply and trying to catch his breath as all the pain and exhaustion started to return.

“Don’t even bother saying again,” he muttered. Strikeclaw whipped around, raising a paw with claws unsheathed. Lopepaw hissed and cowered, curling his tail around himself. “We’ll be called to Justice shortly.” His mentor gave him an odd look, lowering his paw.

“How can you be so sure?”

“I saw everything. I saw what happened. There was a loner. That’s - that’s why my time was slower.” 

Strikeclaw placed his paw back on the ground, sheathing his claws and standing, shaking out his thick black fur. “Did you capture it?”

“No I-”

“Did you help to capture it?”

“Well no-”

“Then you have no excuse,” Strikeclaw answered, turning away from him. “So, with that being said, until they call for us, a-”

“All cats old enough to race through the alders, gather at Justice for tonight’s trial!” The cry came sharp and shrill from the warrior Slipflight as she streaked through the forest. Every warrior and apprentice, regardless of their tasks, stopped and raised their heads, looking toward the north.

Justice was little more than a tiny sheltered pavilion built by two-legs on the side of a busy highway. Beneath the roof was a single wooden picnic table, splintered and covered with moss and lichen after years of neglect. The flooring was no more than packed dirt, and from its south side it pressed up against the forest and was accessible by a canopy of brambles that tangled over an old path that led directly to it. Cats from Alderclan filed their way down the path. For what should have been a solemn time, the warriors and apprentices babbled amongst each other with jeers and laughter, each as excited as though they were coming to witness some sort of sporting event. 

The cats formed a half circle beyond the table, Lopepaw pushing his way to the front for reasons even he could not seem to understand. While the others all talked and jested, he stared ahead in silence, suddenly numb again. Memories of muffled screams shook through him like thunder, the cracking of bone and tearing of flesh flashing through his mind like lightning. A hush ran through the crowd in an instant, the sound of heavy paws thudding against the hardened earth resounding as though it were a tiger and not merely a feral that stalked into the building. Leaping lithely up the bench and then on to the table was the immense form of Rushstar, who settled into a seated position, hunched over menacingly like a gargoyle. The setting sun turned her yellow eyes orange like embers, gleaming as the shadow of a beam passed over her and turned her brilliant black ticked red fur to brick brown. From the left, it was Fleetbreeze and Sprintwind who had the honors of dragging the prisoner in, throwing him into the center of the floor before the crowd and beneath the ominous gaze of Rushstar before taking their places behind him, ready to snag him if he should somehow choose to run. A whisper made its way through the crowd - there was someone missing, someone important.

As if on cue, Swiftgaze padded in slowly from the right, her head hung low and pale violet eyes dull. She placed two paws on the bench, lifting her slightly tapered head to look at the prisoner before hoisting herself up and sitting down. “You’re late,” Rushstar grumbled, not taking her eyes from the prisoner. Swiftgaze turned away.

“I wish I never came,” she replied under her breath. Rushstar shot her a scathing glance, which she did not return. Instead, she set her sights on Lopepaw, who was staring at his paws instead of watching intently like the others.

“State your name,” Rushstar called, her voice echoing in the eerie silence. The prisoner, the same loner from before, cowered and shook like a kitten coming face to face with death itself.

“M-max,” he managed to reply. Rushstar let out an amused chuckle, prompting the rest of the clan to laugh with her, except for Swiftgaze and Lopepaw. 

“Max? That sounds like a kittypet name,” the leader jeered. 

“I… I w-was a kittypet… a long time ago. My… my person died and I… I was left behind,” Max explained. Rushstar smirked and shook her head.

“And I wish I could pity you, Max, but from what I have heard you were lurking on our territory.”

“I-” Rushstar raised a paw and leaned in close.

“Did I ask you to speak?” The crowd oooo’ed, each cat seeming to lean forward with her. The loner opened his mouth to speak, but she swatted him, so hard in fact that in his age, one of his few remaining teeth flew from his mouth and blood ran down his jaws. “I didn’t think so,” Rushstar hissed. She sat back up, settling on her haunches. “Unfortunately for you, you happened upon Alderclan territory. And unfortunately for you, unlike the others, we are a proud clan and we defend our territory well,” she mewed, her voice rough despite the false attempt to sound sweet. “But!” she exclaimed. “Fortunately for you, we do run a democracy here. Therefore, I will leave your accusations and fate to my clan.” She turned to the crowd. “For the charge of approaching our borders, how do you find Max?”

“GUILTY!” The cry came up so loud that it nearly deafened Lopepaw, who shrunk back.

“And for the charge of loitering and lurking, how do you find Max?”  
“GUILTY!”

“For the charge of entering the territory, how do you find Max?”  
“GUILTY!”  
“For the charge of stealing prey and endangering the lives of Alderclan warriors, how do you find Max?” The loner’s eyes widened and he opened his mouth to protest, but no words escaped him. Lopepaw’s face filled with shock. He saw what happened. He knew the truth. This was outrageous. Was every trial filled with lies and false accusations such as this?

“GUILTY!”

“NO!” Lopepaw cried, lunging forward. Fleetbreeze and Sprintwind lept forth and blocked him from nearing the bench. Rushstar was taken aback, her ears flattening.

“Excuse me?” she hissed, her fur bristling. Lopepaw trembled, his tail tucking beneath him.

“I- I said no,” he repeated, his voice shaking and cracking. “That’s… that’s not what happened.” Rushstar sneered.

“Oh really? Please do tell us, then,” she requested. Lopepaw swallowed hard, looking to Max. The old tom looked on him with fear and pity.

“No, no. The accusations are true,” he murmured. Lopepaw’s eyes widened. “D-don’t do this, kit. I’m… I’m an old tom… my time is almost… almost up anyhow... Might as well… might as well get it over with.” Lopepaw shook his head.

“No. This isn’t right,” he proclaimed, adrenaline coursing through him and providing him enough false courage to stand tall. “We can’t be sentencing cats to death for crimes they didn’t commit, whether they belong to the clan or not.”

“Don’t listen to him,” Max pleaded. “Kit, get back in line.”

“I’m not going to stand by and let this keep happening!” Lopepaw cried, turning toward the crowd. “What are we becoming that we kill for no reason other than for the sake of killing? Why do we torture for the sake of torture? Since when did we become a pack of dogs rather than a clan of dignified cats?” The others began to laugh at him, hurling jeers and taunts at him. He looked to Strikeclaw pleadingly. “None of this is ok. Please,” he turned to the rest of the clan. “Somebody else has to feel the same way!” Strikeclaw stood, his expression stoic. Lopepaw’s lips curled into a slight smile, glad to see his mentor had listened to him. 

“Rushstar,” Strikeclaw began. “I stand to accuse the apprentice Lopepaw with obstruction of trial, rebel-rousing, dissention, siding with an enemy, and treason.” Lopepaw’s eyes widened and his ears pinned back.

“W-wait no- Strikeclaw come on, I’m your app-”

“Do any others find Lopepaw guilty of these accusations?” Rushstar exclaimed. 

“He’s guilty!” one tom cried.

“Throw him to the monsters!” a she-cat yowled. The crowd blew up with yowls of threats and claims of guilt. Lopepaw turned to the leader, in terror. Rushstar raised a paw and silence once again reigned, with the exception of the hum of a passing car, its lights flashing in the now dark pavilion.

“Then it is decided.” The leader sat tall, her form silhouetted against the passing lights of another car. “For the charges given, Max is sentenced to face the trial of the thunderpath. May Starclan justly determine his fate.” A cheer went up all around, and Max curled up, defeated. “And, for the charges given, Lopepaw is also sentenced to face the trial of the thunderpath.” A considerably louder cheer rose from the crowd. Lopepaw looked upon their faces with horror. All these cats he considered his friends and his family, all of them were strangers now. He didn’t recognize them anymore - all he saw were terrible creatures, worse than dogs in his eyes. “May Starclan justly determine his fate.”

It was Fleetbreeze that dragged Max to the road. The loner didn’t even struggle - he hung limp from the jaws of the massive tom like a piece of fresh kill. Through Sprintwind moved to grab Lopepaw, Swiftgaze leaped down from the benche with a hiss, her fur bristling as she stood between the apprentice and the warrior. Sprintwind gave her an odd look, but shrugged and stepped back. The deputy grabbed Lopepaw by the scruff. Lopepaw cringed and whimpered quietly, shaking as she led him toward the road. The next moment was a blur. He remembered Max looking back at him. He remembered him smiling. “You’re a good cat,” the elderly tom whispered to him. “Thank you.” With a whip of his head, Fleetbreeze tossed him onto the dark grey pavement. The tom rolled, tumbling across the cold road. Lopepaw caught his eyes just before a flash of light passed and blinded him for a moment. The next moment, all that lay on the road was a lump that looked like it may have once been a cat, bright white bones sticking out from the smashed corpse with pieces of flesh still stuck on them and gleaming crimson in the light of the oncoming cars. Fleetbreeze snickered and bumped into Swiftgaze as he padded back toward the forest.

“Your turn,” he mused. “Have fun!” he called out to Lopepaw. “Tell your mother in Starclan I said hi.” Lopepaw winced. He tensed himself, ready for Swiftgaze to throw him out at any moment. Yet as the cars passed, she stayed steady. He glanced to her. Her eyes were trained on the road, watching each car as they passed. For a split second, there was a moment of darkness and her teeth released from his scruff.

“Run.”

Before her word could even reach his brain his body sprung into action, tearing off onto the road. His claws grasped at the pavement, cracking open and breaking from the force of how he tried to grip the hard stone and tar. The lights of a car blinded his eyes and he swerved, just barely making it underneath the machine rather than beneath its tires. It started to sink in. His heart seemed to beat out of his chest and his lungs stung from the heavy fumes of exhaust. He turned toward the forest. Swiftgaze stood at the edge of the road, her heavy fawn coat drifting in the slight breeze and gleaming almost silver in the light of the moon which hung from the now-night sky. Her eyes were filled with sorrow and pain. He wanted to call out to her, but a rumbling filled his ears and his eyes flooded with blinding light as he turned to the west up the road. He let out a yowl and stuck his paw out to run, but just as he did, the shadow of the car passed over him and a pain filled him so sharp and so severe, his vision swam and his mind went blank.

He caught only glimpses as he came to. There was the silhouette of a deer, a buck, standing on the road over him, antlers curling like branches up to the stars. He remembered speaking its name - Oak - symbol of Alderclan. It hoisted him onto its back. He heard a soft, gruff voice, but didn’t understand what it said. The buck leaped off to the east. He bounded gracefully, shifting to keep the apprentice on his back. He vaulted over moving cars, swerving between the ones he could not jump. He had his eyes set on the forest - the territory of Lumberclan.


	18. Part 4 Epilogue: Justice

“He’s still alive.” Rushstar lifted her head, her ears perking at the sound of a feminine voice from the brambles beyond.

“Who is?”

“The apprentice.”

“How?”

“Oak saved him.”

“...Oak? Really?’

“The one and only.”

“That snake…” The lean, lithe figure of a dull chocolate brown she-cat landed effortlessly upon the table beside her, blue eyes gleaming. She was thin, with sharp angles, but nearly as tall as Rushstar, and behind her lashed twin tails. She purred as she rubbed up against the leader, nuzzling into her.

“Mmm… we’ll deal with him later, my love,” she mewed. Rushstar sighed, leaning into her.

“Where is he now?”

“They were headed to Lumberclan, of course.”  
“Of course,” Rushstar repeated. 

“He was injured, however. I don’t think he will pose much of a threat.”

“Good.” 

“Your warriors did an excellent job, by the way,” the she-cat purred. “They executed my plan perfectly.”

“Your plan is costing me warriors and apprentices,” Rushstar grumbled. Instantly after she said it, she covered her mouth with her paws.

“Excuse me?” the other she cat asked, standing tall and curling herself around her. “Say that again,” she hissed, raising a paw and unsheathing a claw.

“We have to be more careful. More and more warriors are becoming suspicious, and now we’ve lost an apprentice to all of this. That’s - that’s all I meant.” She cringed as the she-cat dug her claw against her neck.

“What did I tell you about questioning me?” she hissed.

“...I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have-” 

“Yet you did.” She dug her claw into her neck and tore it through, careful not to hit any important veins. Rushstar let out a hiss of pain, fighting back the urge to scream. The she-cat released her, licking her blood from her claw. “I don’t need you to question me, dear. I know what I’m doing. If you cannot trust me, then I cannot trust you. You are disposable, Rushstar. I may be fond of you, but I can most certainly do better,” she mewed. 

“I’m sorry, Condor. I’m just stressed…”

“Shhh, shhh, there, there my dear. I know,” the twin-tailed loner cooed, wrapping herself tighter around her like a snake. Rushstar seemed to melt in her embrace, burying her face into what little fur the she-cat had. “We will have all we ever wanted, darling. But tearing Carrionclan apart will take time and patience, and much sacrifice.”

“But how will harming Fieldclan effect them enough to take them down?” Condor looked to her, her blue eyes seeming to pierce through her.

“Because I know Rotstar’s greatest secret, and I know that the clan will crumble without him. They’re on thin ice, my dear, first dealing with our war, now dealing with a prophecy.”

“A prophecy?”

“Yes, my love. My time has finally come.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo boy Part 4 was a doozy to write. I'm sorry it took so long! This one was hard to kinda 'get right,' so I hope I actually did... get it right. Anyways - there's plenty more to come for this one, at least another eight parts or so before I move on to book two. I'm kinda shook about how long it is already, but whoop here we are! Hopefully the next part won't take quite so long to write so I'm not leaving y'all hanging again! Thanks for all the support and again you are encouraged to give me feedback whether it be good or bad in the comments - it helps a lot with my motivation and with knowing how I'm doing so far!

**Author's Note:**

> IMPORTANT: I couldn't fit it in the summary - but here's a link to the official character list: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20755562
> 
> Hey there! Thanks for taking your valuable time to read my... subpar writing. Ha. Anyways. There's not too much to say in terms of notes yet, but I figured I'd take the space to explain some things. Feel free to read through what I've written below for some more details about how the book/series/chronicles work. And in the meantime - feel free to send me some comments! Good comments, great comments, bad comments, ugly comments - I welcome them all! I value everyone's feedback an awful lot :)
> 
> 1\. This book is going to be written in Parts. Each Part is focused on a specific clan or location. If a Part is meant to be occurring at the same time as another, it will be written that it is happening at the same time. If I haven't written that it's occurring at the same time, it should be assumed that it is happening some time after the last Part.
> 
> 2\. There should be about........ 4-6 books in this series, depending on where I think a good stopping point will be for each one.
> 
> 3\. This series is NOT a stand-alone series. It is going to be part of a larger project called 'The Felis Dominae Chronicles.' I won't disclose exactly what that means yet (because, y'know, spoilers) - but! - what I can tell you is that this will likely be the only longer series within it. Each other piece will either be a single book, a duology, or a trilogy, and while they (along with this series) can each be read as separate stories, they do all connect together and create a larger story which will culminate in a single finale book which will probably be way too long.
> 
> I think that's pretty much it! Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy the story!


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